


Signless.

by Apiaristic



Category: Homestuck, Venom - Fandom
Genre: Abuse Mentions, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Canon-Typical Violence, Chapter-specific triggers will be put in chapter notes, College age- characters, Dave's Bro | Beta Dirk Strider's Bad Parenting, Dirk is Bro Strider, Dirk is a robotics professional, Jake is Jade's uncle, Jake is an astronaut, Jane Crocker is John's aunt, Jane owns a bakery, Karkat has no concept of personal space, M/M, Multi, Roxy is Rose's mother, Roxy is- an alcoholic, Symbiotes - Freeform, TW for mild child abuse, TW for violence?, Troll symbiotes, Trolls (Homestuck), inferred porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:08:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23019064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apiaristic/pseuds/Apiaristic
Summary: When Dave Strider stumbles upon an alien containment device on his rooftop, he expects to get, maybe, some cool powers. He'll become a superhero and do superhero shit.Instead, he gets an annoying addition to his everyday life and body. A symbiotic relationship with an alien that has no problem making his life hard.
Relationships: Dave Strider/John Egbert, Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas, Dirk Strider/Jake English, Dirk Strider/Sollux Captor, John Egbert/Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas, Kanaya Maryam/Rose Lalonde, Karkat Vantas/Sollux Captor
Comments: 41
Kudos: 171





	1. The thing.

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a concept for Troll Symbiotes on Twitter by a friend, and instantly wanted to write a fic/au for it. Hopefully i actually keep up with it.

_'Control to Apollo fifteen, do you read?'_

_'Reading you.'_

_'Status report.'_

_'Entering the atmosphere.'_

_'Is the cargo secure?'_

_'Secure and ready for delivery.'_

_'How many?'_

_'Twelve.'_

The main floor was busy. Too busy for someone like him to just be hanging around, *waiting.* He was barely a part of this job, merely a sidepiece, one of the lowly mechanics,

A friend had gotten him a seat here. Front row, watching the re-entry of a ship he had helped to build. The semi-circular room was filled with people and desks and computers, a massive screen at the front of the room talking about things that he understood, but wouldn't care to explain.

A light switched from blue to red. Another one.

_'Apollo to central control, there seems to be a-'_

Scrambled message. Yelling. He stands from his seat, wide eyes and sweating skin. No, no. It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

_'Mayday, Mayday! There's been a breach in containment-'_

More garbled speech.

_'....going down….emergency procedures-'_

The air in the room immediately shifts. People are shouting, running hands through hair, pointing. There's a hand on his shoulder.

"Dirk- _Dirk."_

He jumps. Turns to the voice. Brown hair, big eyes, glasses. 

"We should leave."

"What?" Dirk asks, amber hues narrow behind sharp shades. "No, I built that ship-"

"Nobody who can't help shouldn't be in here."

"Are you saying-"

Something outside explodes, distantly. The room shakes, and Dirk stumbles, reaching out for the nearby wall to steady himself. 

"What the _fuck-"_

Hands on his shoulders. Someone is pushing him, leading him out and away, and he hisses, the fabric of his suit pulling taut at his waist as he twists.

"Let me go, English."

The other doesn't comply. Not until they're out of the room, with the ox of a man blocking the way to where Dirk wants to be.

"Go home, Dirk."

He says solemnly, sternly, and there's no room for argument.

So Dirk goes home, and a spaceship crashlands in someone's rural backyard.

-

"Therefore, the square root of _music_ , in this case-"

The drawl never ends, does it?

A blond head of hair dumps itself over its arms.

Bluuuuuhhhhh. Maths. Owner of said head of hair is not listening. The desk in front of him is littered with music sheets and scribbled notes, chords and tabs and other things he'll probably never get to play.

"Strider, would you like to show us what this beat would sound like?"

His head snaps up. Pursed lips and dark shades, pale skin and delicate stance, Dave Strider looks from his professor to the board that he's standing by, blue marker on white.

"Uh. Sure." 

He stands from his seat, pushing back his stool and snatching up a pair of drumsticks.

He spins them on his fingers. Oh yeah, this is his element. Not maths and lines and words. Just hitting stuff.

Well- No. That's more John's element. He's all about banging shit with hammers, working with his hands.

The room vibrates with gentle applause as he finishes his little display of dramatic fingerspinning, seating himself behind the drums at the back of the room. It’s not hard to fall into rhythm, the one-two-three-one-two-three beat, snare, high-hat, the big foot-pedal one that Dave can't remember the name of-

"Thank you, Dave."

Dave continues to play, dramatically snapping the drumsticks down against stretched drum-skin, earning giggles from classmates and a glare from his teacher. Whatever, prof, kids bored, got needs.

A bell rings. Students start packing their things, carelessly shoving books into bags and pens into pockets. Dave returns to his desk and does the same in record time, seeing as he doesn't really _care_ about any of the shit here. He doesn't listen as the teacher gives out tabletures and assignments, opting for shouldering his guitar case that's currently doubling as a school bag and getting outie of the schoolroom as fast as he can.

Sburbian College is always taking new students. Mostly rejects, undergrads, kids who didn't do so good in school- Like, Dave, who just want to play music or make art. He's not alone, here, in fact, here in the dormitories is where he would always rather be.

But it's Friday afternoon, and he hasn't been home in weeks, so as he meanders down the hall and stairs, pushing past gaggles of people towards his shared room, he's thinking about all the ways he's going to avoid his brother.

John snaps him out of his thoughts as he pushes the mahogany door open to his room. He's sitting by the window with a book in hand, writing, or— drawing, Dave can't tell. Their room is split in half. Half for Dave, half for John. John's stuff is all blue and teal, a sharp contrast to Dave's red and burgundy colour palette. 

"Oh, hey Dave!"

The ravenette calls, setting his book down and grinning his usual toothy smile, pushing his large square specs up on his freckled nose.

Dave grunts a greeting and drags his duffel out from under his bed with a sigh, listening to the scrape of fabric on old floorboards.

John sounds dejected when he sighs and slips from his book-nook to stand. "Going home for the weekend?"

"Yup." Comes Dave's dry reply as he shoves clothes carelessly into the bag, mostly from the floor until he gets up and shuffles to his drawers to pull the more-surely clean stuff out. 

Everybody knows that Dave hates going home. At least- everyone that matters. John, Jade, Rose. They _don't_ know any details, because godforbid, Rose would never let him out of her sight, but they know he hates it all the same. John stands and helps him back. Helps him choose which pair of jeans are probably cleaner, which pillow to take home-

Joking. You think he has the luxury of more than one pillow?

He _does_ however, have a tangle-buddy. Jade has the other one, and Dave's one is all- tattered, from months of never letting it out of his sight bar when he goes out or takes a shower.

Thing is a damn good luck charm.

There's a knock on their door, and Dave jumps, hand jerking to his hip.

No sword. No knife. Dumbass, he doesn't need it here.

John pulls the door open, and Jade is standing there with Rose, and Becquerel, a monster of a dog with too much fur and a vest that reads; 'SERVICE ANIMAL; DO NOT PET.'

"Dave!" Jade cries, letting go of Beq's harness to throw herself to her friend, flinging her arms around his neck. He smiles small and returns her hug, breathing in the familiar smell of plants and- plants.

"Hey, Jade."

"We wanted to come and say goodbye before you went home." The girl replies as she pulls away from the embrace. Becquerel wuffs and nudges his nose into her thigh, and she leans to pet him.

"Beq says goodbye too."

"It's only the weekend, jeez, you're acting like you'll never see me again." Dave responds, rolling his eyes with a good natured smile. Rose lingers behind, but eventually she saunters forward and gives Dave a warm hug as well.

Books. Books and ink.

"We were thinking of walking home with you. It’s not far, right?"

Rose's deep eyes are searching. She's all dark makeup and dark clothes, bleach blonde hair and hard eyes, remarkably gentle when she tries, though. Dave appreciates her. He appreciates all of his friends. He shakes his head though, and pets Beq on the head, slinging an arm around John in a bro-hug, that becomes remarkably less bro-like when Dave pecks a kiss to his cheek and dodges the grossed-out slap John aims at him, laughing.

"Nah, nah, I can get home alright. I’m like, the king of being able to stumble my way home." Yeah. Just follow the smell of felt and bloodstains and oncoming pain. He can’t help but smile, though, watching John busy wiping 'Strider-slobber' from his face.

Rose nods, hefts Dave's bag up for him, which he promptly shoulders as he glances around the room one more time.

"Hasta la-vista, until we meet again, cooler room than the one I'm going to." Dave calls mockingly as he makes for the door to leave again, standing in the doorway.

The afternoon sun filters in through the window. His friends' shadows are long, looming, and they all look oddly transcendental in the warm light. Like omens. Good ones, but dramatic ones.

He turns and leaves. 

Dave hates goodbyes. They're always uncomfortable. Better to leave the interaction oddly unfinished— So he can come back to it. It gives him a better sense that he *will* see people again, because, in all honesty, he has no idea if that time was or will be, the last.

Goodbyes are sad and sappy.

Scuffing the pavement as he walks down the street, the hub-bub of the world around him is not as loud as it usually is for a Friday afternoon. Normally, more people are around, going on dates or making to clubs- But it's calm this afternoon. Uneventful. 

He makes a stop at the convenience store. Buys something to eat, because there is no way his brother cooked him anything, nor will he.

The extra weight is a pain, but he shoulders it like everything else as he carries it up the stairs to his apartment.

They live on the top floor. The elevator is broken, and running up and down the flights is a constant workout in itself, so Dave never bothers actually exercising. He gets enough of that anyway, unintentionally. 

He heaves all of his bags up the last stair and gasps for air, his lungs burning with the effort of carrying all his shit up to the ninth floor. 

Keys are in his bag- Shit. He dumps everything down and groans, crouching to fumble through his bag.

The door opens before he can get up or get to his keys, and his gaze follows socked feet up jean-clad legs to a wife-beater style singlet, to sharp sunglasses and spiked hair.

"You're late home."

Dirk says rather curtly, standing aside as Dave struggles to heft up his bags and drag them inside.

Dave doesn't say anything. It's better not to. He sets his things on the kitchen table and starts to unpack his groceries, loading them into the empty fridge. Dirk probably wont eat any of his food, so its safe to leave it here.

Probably.

Guy never eats anyway.

Dave pauses, takes a breath. One, two, three. He shoulders his duffel to make for his room, but turns to his brother with a dry; 'Hello,' before he does.

His room is exactly how it was when he left. Good. Sometimes Dirk will come through, looking for something, and it'll be a mess, but it seems like he hasn't, this time. He dumps his bags down and groans loudly, flopping onto the mess of blankets and pillows that make up his bed. 

He doesn’t realise that he’d fallen asleep there until he wakes up with a killer backache and moonlight spearing in through his cracked blinds. He rolls onto his back and sits up, groaning. The bridge of his nose hurts where his glasses had been digging in during his face-down nap, and he pulls them off to rub his face.

He gets slowly to his feet and drops down the one step that gives his bed a slightly raised feel from the rest of the room. His double bed is a mattress on the floor, but he specifically asked Dirk not to buy him a proper frame. The low ceiling and slight raise in the floor give the ‘mattress on the floor’ a more tasteful look than a poor one.

Shuffling across the floorboards to his cupboard, he changes from his jeans into a pair of boxers and an over-sized shirt, one from John. John’s always giving him shit, and it’s always too big, but it’s also always warm, and smells like cake or baked goods. Dave yawns, stretches his skinny arms out above his head.

There’s a dull thud, and Dave jumps, shooting a scowl at his bedroom door. Really? Rooftop? On a Friday night?

Snatching up his blunt katana from the floor, where he dumped it last time, and reaches for the cool door handle, twisting the knob and pulling it inward, open, quickly. He’s too tired for this shit. As he stomps from his room, he doesn’t turn back around to notice that there’s no note on his floor. Or on his door.

There’s no note anywhere.

He gets about halfway up the stairs to the rooftop when there’s another dull thudding noise, and another, and another. Dave feels his blood go cold, and he turns his gaze upwards. 

Rubble is falling from the ceiling. It wasn’t his brother knocking at his door. If he hadn’t been so tired, he might have noticed that the sound was coming from the roof, not to his right where his bedroom door was.

The noises are getting louder. He stiffens on the last step to the door, and hesitates.

The next sound is like the sky breaking open. Something hits the ground just outside the door and cracks the cement and shakes the whole apartment building so fiercely that Dave drops his sword and grabs onto the doorhandle to steady himself, worried he’ll fall down the stairs backwards.

Earthquake?

Earthquake. 

Dave scoops up his sword in one shaking hand. He’s here now, so he may as well peek outside and see what’s what, right? At least it won’t be a beating.

He opens the door.

The first thing he sees is fire. The air conditioning unit has blown up, and pieces of the roof litter- well, what’s left of the roof. It looks like a scene from a superhero movie.

He shifts, standing up on his toes to look over the fire and the destruction, his heart racing. His knees feel weak, and his stomach flips when he notices the whole-ass crater in the centre of the roof.

_Fuck. Fuck fuck_

He carefully steps out over the rubble, cursing his barefeet when he trips and steps on tiny rocks that send pain up his leg like stepping on lego.

As he peers into the shallow now-incline in his ceiling, standing on a cracked slab of cement, he swallows the lump in his throat.

There’s a metal canister no less than three feet from him. It’s got glass panels, which are all currently fogged up and charred with ash, but something tells him that whatever is in that canister-

It's not dead.

He sets his weapon down and scoots carefully towards the cylinder, swallowing. There are flaming pieces of everything everywhere, and as much as he’s entranced by the red and yellow, he doesn’t want to burn his feet.

Crouching, Dave places a hand onto the canister and rolls it over with a grinding noise as metal grinds on cement. 

There’s an electrocardiograph that steadily beeps along one side, blipping in green. Which means that his assumptions were correct- whatever is in here is alive. Dave hefts the cylinder into his arms and stands up. It's not huge- just smaller than his torso, and remarkably light. It doesn’t beep or blip as he cradles it in his arms, and uses one hand to wipe some of the black ash from one of the glass panels. He doesn’t see anything for a moment, but then, a mess of reddish-black _goo_ slaps itself to the panel and _writhes._ Yelping, Dave holds it at an arms length, and watches the mess of slime slide down the glass and then re-slap itself to the glass.

Everything in him screams to put the fucking thing back down and forget about it.

But since when did he listen to anything in himself?

He tucks it under one arm and grabs his sword.


	2. Cake.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave invites John over for some much needed bro-time after a rough night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mild child abuse. Just Dirk being an asshole.

He sneaks the cylinder downstairs and inside, which isn't hard, because Dirk is, as usual, nowhere to be fucking seen, and locks his bedroom door as soon as he's inside. He runs a hand through his hair, his heart pounding like a nine-margarita-headache on a church morning, and stares with wide eyes at the craft on his bed.

It hits him only now that it looks suspiciously like something alien, or from space. Fuck.

What if it is an alien?

He kicks himself. It's obviously an alien. Red-black goo that moves doesn't drop from the sky to not be alien.

Stepping closer, he grabs an old bath-towel from where it's dumped over the back of his desk chair, and wipes the ash and char and dirt off of the canister. His towel is black by the time he's done, but now he has a mostly clean cylinder of alien goop sitting on his bed. The mass inside shifts and moves and Dave is sure he can hear it, even from on the opposite side of what must be 8-inch everything-proof glass.

Dave slumps down on the bed beside it, dumbfounded, and stares at his bedroom door.

What the fuck now?

Obviously, he wants to open it. Some dumb part of him yells that maybe he'll get cool superpowers, another part of him yells that maybe he'll get a new friend.

The rational side of him says to turn it in, to the police, but that's barely any fun. 

Reaching over, he drags it into his lap and starts pressing buttons. None of them seem to do anything, and there's a pad on the front that looks like it's for a thumbprint. Damn. 

A knock on his door. With a silent yelp, he stuffs the cylinder underneath his bedsheets and tries not to sound surprised, splaying himself out over his bed.

"Come in."

Typically, Dirk Strider wouldn't listen for something so much as an allowance to get in anywhere, but ever since he caught Dave masturbating that one time, he's been a lot more careful. He stands like a stone in his boot in Dave's doorway, all wifebeaters and spiked hair and spiked personality.

"Did you hear the pounding on the roof?" He asks, his tone cool, calm, like always.

"No." Dave drawls, yawning. "I was asleep."

"Liar."

"I'm serious! I got home and passed out straight away."

Dirk surveys him with narrowed eyes behind his sharp shades, looks from Dave's sword on the floor to the mess of his bedsheets, and must decide that Dave's lienis believable. It's not totally false, he had fallen asleep when he got home.

Slowly, Dirk steps inside, and Dave internally groans.

 _Go away_! He thinks. _I'm busy and I don't like you!_

"How was, uh, school?"

His brother tries, straddling his desk chair and lounging his arms along the back of it, watching Dave almost carefully as he sits up, and sighs. He's wearing that John-kids shirt again.

"It's not school." Dave replies coolly, not meeting Dirk's eyes as he pats out his bedsheets absentmindedly. "But it was fine."

"How's your music?"

Annoyance rumbles in Dave's chest. The one time he wants to be alone, and his brother wants to feign a normal relationship with him. Any other day, and he might be thrilled that Dirk isn't trying to beat him up, or put puppets in his bed, but right now,—

"It's fine." He sighs, and curses, because he can see the anger that flicks across Dirks face even though it's only there for a moment.

"You're not even trying to have this conversation." Dirk accuses with a hint of malice in his tone, and Dave knows that he's scowling beneath his shades.

"I am- Look, I'm just tired from school, and-"

"And I'm trying to be a decent young parent."

"Yeah? Well you fucking suck." Oops. 

He hadn't meant to let himself get angry, and Dave's shoulders heave with the effort of his shaking breaths as Dirk stands, slowly, and steps towards him, even slower.

"I know I haven't been the best."

"The best? You haven't even be-"

The hand in his hair makes him yelp. Its hard and unrelenting, and it shoves him to the nearest wall and holds him there with his head tilted half-up.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"But I'm trying." Dirk snarls, nose pressed to his, smelling like metal and welding tools and cheap soda. His fingers tangled meanly in Dave's hair, he shunts him again, knocking his head against the wall gently. Not enough to hurt, but enough that it knocks any mean retort from Dave's throat and leaves him stammering like a fucking pussy.

"I work a shitty five to nine job, live in a shitty apartment, and best of all, get to look after my shitty little brother. I'm twenty-three, does it fucking look like you are what I want to be doing with my life?" The taller of the two snaps angrily, making Dave wince away. 

When he does flinch, though, Dirk backs off. He lets go of Dave's hair, and the boy scrambles for his sword.

Dirk laughs meanly and shakes his head, stepping past Dave, who clutches his weapon, his only means of safety, with shaking, sweating hands.

"You're so fucking pathetic." He breathes as he grabs the doorhandle and slams the door shut so hard that Dave's heart leaps into his throat.

When he's gone, even after a few minutes, Dave still stands in stance, waiting for him to come back, listening for his footsteps that never come. He sinks to his knees after a while, not trusting himself to walk, and sets a hand on his chest, willing himself to breathe.

When he does, it comes in short gasps and weak rasps with stinging tears. He wasn't supposed to fucking cry tonight, and he's fucking mad about it, now.

Alien device forgotten beneath his blankets, he clambers slowly onto his bed and searches for his phone, which he knows he dumped here earlier. When his hands find it, he gives a sniff and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, and tries to scroll through his contacts with wet eyes and shaking, sweating palms.

John, John, He needs

John.

He hits call.

_Hey, man, what's up?'_

His voice is reassuring. Dave lets himself relax as he presses the receiver to his ear, and furrows his brow.

"Apple juice." He mumbles, reaching for Jade's gifted tangle-buddy and hugging it to his chest.

 _'Oh_.'

John and Dave are close. And dumb. Close dumb friends have close dumb friend things, like code for when they're having a bad night and just want to talk about nonsense to forget. John's good at that. Making Dave feel better. Helping him ignore shit he doesn't want to think about.

' _Do you wanna watch con-air with me? I can stream it.'_

"Dude, that movie is so shitty."

' _You're so shitty! Come on, give it another try, Mr too-cool-for-Nick-Cage. Nobody is too cool for Nick Cage.'_

Dave smiles. He sits up with his phone in his shoulder and reaches for his laptop as John soothingly rants about his movie. He’s glad for John- lucky, to have John. Rose and Jade are great, but they’re- well. Girls. He can’t relate like he relates to John, they don’t understand like John understands him.

‘ _Do you wanna talk about it?’_

Dave frowns. Does he? His head aches from where Dirk grabbed his hair, and the still fresh memory makes him shake.

“Not yet,” He settles, pulling his covers over his head and setting his laptop on his lap. “Maybe later.”

‘ _Cool with me, man, just lemme know.’_

About halfway through the movie, after a good half hour of Dave poking fun at John’s movie taste, a silence falls, until Dave breaks it.

“I found an alien.”

 _‘Are you high?_ ’

He laughs, shakes his head as if John were here to see him. He sort of wishes he was. He glances at the cylinder that he is now hidden under the blankets with, and it glows in the dim light, the creature inside writhing. 

“Yeah, man, I’m so fuckin’ blazed, my brother and I have been blowing it out our asses for hours now, duuuude-“

‘ _Dave_.’

“No, I’m not fucking high. I’ll send you a picture.”

‘ _What, is it like, some wrinkly E.T that you’re stashing in your cupboard?”_

Dave grins as he opens his camera and snaps a shot of the cylinder and the thing inside.

“Naw, man, it's one of Jade’s uncle’s superhot blue alien women.”

‘ _Duuuude, what the fuck is that?’_

“Dunno.” Dave grunts, assuming that John got the image he sent, resting back on his pillow again. “It crashed on my roof.”

‘ _Is this what apple juiced you?’_

A long, heavy sigh. The boy stares at the alien at his feet, at his computer, wishing that it was John’s face. He’d rather do this in person.

“Can you come over tomorrow?’ He asks, hoping he doesn’t sound too desperate.

‘ _Sure. Will your brother let me?’_

“He’s working all day tomorrow.”

‘ _Niiiice. I’ll bring a bunch of my aunts reject cakes.’_

“Dude, even your aunt's rejects are the best cakes ever.”

‘ _I know, right? She’s like, a sorcerer of the baked arts_.”

“A batterwitch.”

John’s chortling laughter over the speaker makes Dave break into a grin, and he finds himself sleepily relaxing into the sound of con-air in the background and John’s quiet sighs. 

‘ _Do you want me to stay until you fall asleep?’_

“S’fuckin’ gay.”

‘ _Says the one who ASKED me to stay last time.’_

“I didn’t say no.”

He replies, yawning. He watches John set con-air to repeat, and then laughs softly at the idea of this dumb movie as a lullaby.

Although, John's breathing is more the lullaby than anything else, and it doesn't take long before he's gone, sprawled beneath his bedsheets with his phone by his head.

***

When Dave wakes up the next morning, he’s tangled in wires. His call with John ended at about 3am, with a message from John that reads; ‘Night, man.’ His computer is hot, the cylinder at the end of his bed is still there, unsurprisingly, and Dave carries it to his desk, setting it upright on the messy table and watches the thing inside for a while. He talks absentmindedly to it, to himself, as he dresses and cleans his room, careful not to get too naked in front of his new alien roommate. He pats it on the metal top before he leaves, and somewhere in his mind, he swears on god that the canister chittered.

When he checks the kitchen, Dirk is already gone. There’s a shitty breakfast of leftover bacon and eggs, and a sticky note that reads ‘ _sorry_.’ Dave dumps all of it into the trash. He doesn’t want Dirks dumb and empty apologies, or his cold breakfast. 

The clock on the wall reads mid-morning. Which means that Dirk let him sleep in. Usually, Dirk wakes him up when he leaves for work, at least, when he’s home, which is around 4;30. Something about being vigilant about waking schedules. Dave is pretty sure that Dirk is just being an asshole though, knowing Dave won’t be able to get back to sleep, and will be tired all day.

Phone dumped onto the bench, a message from John reads; ‘ _On my way. Hope u have a fat appetite.’_

Dave grins at it and taps back; ‘The phattest', to which John responds with an angry face, but Dave ignores it in favour of hitting ‘play’ on his most recently put together Spotify playlist, and proceeds to dance around the kitchen on his toes, bouncing his head and yelling the lyrics to the music around his small apartment. For a moment, the world is his, its just him and his music and the kitchen bench, and he doesn’t stop fucking around and singing until he’s out of breath and actually feeling pretty happy for once, ripping open a bag of old crisps as he waits for-

Speak of the devil's best friend. Shoving his shades onto his face, Dave bounds to open the door, beaming at John, who stands there with his school bag and his arms full of cakes.

“Sorry I took so long, Aunt Jane wanted to write a note for you and stuff.”

John says as he steps past Dave into the apartment as if it's his own home, which actually makes Dave feel a lot less lonely. His friend sets the food on the counter, and then hands Dave a folded letter with his name on it written in neat cursive. 

The darker haired boy hops onto a barstool and snags some of Dave’s crisps as the blond mumbles a hello, entranced by the letter. He never gets any letters.

‘ _Dave,_

_I know we’ve only met once or twice through John, but I still think of you like my own second nephew! You always look so skinny, so I gave John some extra cakes for you today._

_You might not know this, but I’m actually good friends with your brother. We talk a lot when we go out for coffee with his coworker and Roxy Lalonde, Hoo hoo!_

_I know he’s a bit of a tough case. I hope he isn’t too mean to you. He’s a bit stunted, you know?_

_If you EVER need somewhere to come to get away, or need a break, my door is always open, and John talks about you all the time, so I’m sure he’d be ecstatic to have you stay!_

_Anyway, I won’t talk too much more. I hope you and John have a good day. Kisses, :D_

  * _Aunt Jane._




He actually tears up a bit reading that. He folds the note as carefully as it had come, and shoves it into his pocket. John is scrolling through some app on his phone, but when Dave returns to the land of cake and katana’s, he puts it down.

“So,” He says through a mouthful of old chips. “I brought like, Mario kart, and super smash bros, and The Princess Bride, so we can do like, any of those things, only if you promise to show me your alien afterwards.”

“Sure, man. Just as long as you don’t mention con-air even once.” Dave retorts, reaching across the bench for one of the millions of small bags of croissants John brought. He’s grateful for John- for his aunt. Even for his weirdly nice dad, who pats Dave on the back and calls him ‘ _Son_ ' in a way that makes his heart ache whenever he sees him.

John is easy. Easy to be friends with. Easy to be around. He’s funny, sweet, a massive dork, and if anything, Dave would call him his brother if he wasn’t so-

Wasn’t so…

“Dude. Bring soda.”

Reefed from his thoughts by John, whose already setting up a movie on the TV in the lounge, Dave chirps something dumb that earns him a snort from his friend as he searches through the fridge for something to drink. There are two cans of shitty faygo left, but if that's all they have, it's all they have. 

The pair settle in on the couch, which is a small two-person love seat that Dave wouldn’t be caught dead on if Dirk was here. Its Dirks seat. He’s always sprawled out all over it, fiddling with wires and metals until he passes out in front of some dumb horse movie. 

But now, it gives him an excuse to lean on John, to relax into his warmth, even if they end up wrestling like children over the remote with John digging his fingers into Dave’s ribs because he knows it renders him useless, a giggly little bitch who whines and keeps his arms pinned firmly and protectively over his sides.

By the end of the movie, Dave has his head on John’s lap, feeding himself pieces of croissant as he critiques the film that rolls across the screen. It isn’t until the credits are done that he sits up and stretches, and John speaks up.

“Alien time.”

Dave rolls his eyes and swings his legs off the couch. 

“ _Actually_ , it's like, lunchtime, so-“

“If you try to put this off any longer, Dave Strider, I will burst into your room regardless of how much compromising material inevitably litters your room.”

John quips, standing and stretching out his sleepy limbs. TPD is a long movie.

Dave thinks.

 _Is_ there any compromising material in his room?

As soon as John sees his eyes snap wide, he’s scrambling as fast as Dave is for his bedroom, as John chortles about what kind of porn he thinks he’ll find and Dave retorts that there’s no porn, because there isn’t, just maybe John’s old shirt on the floor where he left it this morning. After sleeping in it. While falling asleep on the phone. With John.

The boy dressed in blue shorts and wide-framed glasses gets Dave’s door open just as Dave tackles him around the waist and they both go sprawling, laughter echoing around the wooden room as they grab and twist and wrestle, John inevitably ending up with Dave pinned underneath him.

“Gotcha.” He grins toothily, which Dave scoffs at.

 _“Oh gosh,_ Mr Egbert, Whatever will you do to me?”

Dave misses the dark flush that rises on John’s face as he scrambles to his feet and nudges Dave with the toe of his shoe.

“Get up, dumbass.”

 _“Oh,_ Mr Egbert…”

John slaps him upside the head gently, but he’s deliberately slow, and Dave sees it coming, opting for sticking his tongue out once he’s on his feet rather than cowering away. 

The canister on Dave’s desk glints in the late-morning sun, the metal shining dull-ly.

“Dude…” John breathes when he notices it, leaning to grab the sides of the cylinder and press his face to it, staring in at the thing that slaps around inside and moves like- jelly. Lumpy, clumped, living jelly. Dave leans over John’s shoulder and shrugs, watching his wide-eyed friend stare in..

“I know, right? Thing just landed on my fucking roof like it was choosing me as its fated owner.”

He jokes, tugging with one nervous hand at the hem of his red shirt as the possible truth of that statement is really hitting him now. John inspects it closer, running his fingers over the divets and bumps and screws, and hums.

“Have you tried getting it open?”

Dave nods. “Like, all last night before I called you.”

John pulls himself up. He glances to Dave, back at the canister, to Dave again.

“Why did you call me?”

The question makes Dave stop short. He stands straight and turns in a circle with a sigh, half-pacing like an anxious animal as he tugs at the hem of his shirt with both hands.

“If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone else.”

Worry creases John’s face. His deep blue eyes go a little darker as his brows furrow, and he purses his lips.

“Depends on how bad it is.”

“I’m not being fucking, like, abused,” Dave says fast and nonchalantly, heart racing. He glances around as if waiting for Dirk to appear out of the walls. “Dirk just gets mad sometimes and I’m a big bitch about it.”

John steps closer, his brow furrowing further. His voice drops comfortingly low, and he adjusts the sleeves of his tee, as if the short sleeves suddenly aren’t warm enough even in this already humid room.

“Dave..-“

“He just- Its like, I’ll do something dumb, and he’ll grab at me, and I’ll get angry or upset, and then-“

Dave draws in a sharp breath as if he’s said too much, and even behind his shades, John can see his eyes flicking around as if looking for danger, his deep red hues dialated, and the boy shifts and mutters something about wanting to change the subject. Talk about a snap-change in mood.

“Then what, Dave?”

“You can’t tell anyone.” 

Dave’s voice cracks. John catches tears slipping out of his eyes, and he reaches for Dave in a motion that makes him flinch at first. John draws away.

“I won’t- I won’t tell anyone.”

“I don’t want- I don’t want to get in trouble. Or to get him in trouble. If he finds out I said something-“

“This sounds a lot like abuse, Dave.” John presses worriedly, his own voice cracking. He’s never seen Dave cry before, he’s always thought of him as such a- strong, not-emotional guy, and it pulls at his heartstrings to see him so upset.

“It's not-“ Dave insists, gesturing wildly with his hands, pulling at his shirt, his sleeves, his collar. “It’s not abuse, he just gets mad, and I do dumb things, and its my fault, and-“

“Shh.” John croons, stepping forward to carefully coax Dave’s hands away from his hair where he’s pulling at his strands of blond, instead pulling them to his chest where he then envelopes Dave in a hug that has Dave shaking. 

John is shaking too. His mind runs at a million miles a minute, and his heart is pounding, and all he wants to do is take Dave away and make everything okay. He doesn’t deserve this, nobody does.

“I’m sorry-“ Dave hiccups, trying to pull from the hug. John doesn’t let him, though, because Dave is still shaking horribly and fidgeting and clammy.

“It’s okay, man- jeez, don’t apologise. Its okay.” He whispers, letting Dave fist at his shirt and hide his face in his shoulder, He can feel his shirt getting wet with the others snot and tears, but he doesn’t care, and Dave doesn’t either, it seems, his shades clattering to the floor as he furiously wipes his red eyes.

It's a short moment before either of them are calm enough to let go. John waits for Dave to let out a tell-tale, relaxed sigh, waits for his shoulders to slump, for his white-knuckle grip on John’s white polo to loosen. Only then does he pull away enough to hand Dave a tissue and guide him to sit on the edge of his bed.

“Shit, dude.” Dave laughs in a huff after a minute, avoiding John’s eyes as he dries his face and hides it in his hands, which feel cool, nice, on his heated face, John watches him and places a hand on his shoulder, which prompts a quiet; ‘I’m okay.” From the musician that John doesn’t believe.

Dave gives John a broken smile. “I’ll be okay.”

“I know that. You always are.” John says kindly, tapping his knee against Dave’s as they sit thigh-to-thigh. “But it's okay to not be okay for a while, you know?’

Dave nods, staring at his lap where his hands are balled into fists.

“I won’t tell anyone.” He reassures, hand migrating from Dave’s shoulder to on his knee, a gentle squeeze that brings Dave’s red hues to John’s soft blues. ‘But you have to promise you’ll tell me, so I can help you.”

‘How?” Dave asks, in such a forlorn tone that John feels his heart ache again. In truth, he has no idea how, but he’ll improvise, like always.

“We’ll work it out. The first step is talking about it, telling some tone.”

“I feel so dumb.” Dave breathes, voice cracking again. He glances towards the canister on his desk, and John follows his gaze to where the cylinder shakes, the creature inside clearly agitated for some reason.

“Why?” John pries quietly, and Dave shakes his head.

“Crying, its dumb. Especially in front of someone.”

John grabs both of Dave’s shoulders and forces their eyes to meet, and he stares hard at Dave.

“Crying is not dumb. It's mentally very healthy, and especially for someone whose going through a lot.”

“It's not a lot, man, its-“

You live alone with your brother who doesn’t know how to be a brother. You’re basically funding your college tuition on whatever scraps he gives you, and you have had no support for any of this shit since what, birth?” John quips indignantly, suddenly angry. Angry that dave has been suffering and he didn’t know, angry that he has no idea what to do, angry because-

Soft.

There’s- Something soft. On his mouth.

It’s.

Its Dave.

Dave has leaned forward and kissed him, right on the mouth, hands cupping John’s cheeks, tears streaming down his cheeks, his eyes squeezed shut.

John kisses him back.


	3. A steaming heap of bad news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah, two chapters in two days?? whaaaat?  
> dudes. i'm on a ro l l

Dave has no idea what came over him in the space of the three minutes before and while he was kissing John. It was like everything went out of his mind except for the thought; ‘Kiss him,’ and here they now were.

The worst, ( best? ) part, was that John was kissing him back. He hadn’t pulled away in surprise or disgust, rather, he’d pressed his soft lips forward against Dave’s and kissed him back. 

Dave’s hands migrated to John’s shirt, fisting at the fabric. John’s hands shifted to Dave’s waist. He could felt the warmth of his palms through his shirt, and Dave shifted, relaxing into the gesture, wanting more, more, until John broke the kiss to inhale a sharp breath. They stayed close, just staring, breathing softly onto each other’s lips, breathless.

“I, Uh.” John whispered, eyes flicking from Dave’s mouth up to his eyes and back again, tan cheeks dusted with soft blush. Dave stayed stunned into silence, chased John’s lips for another kiss, and then hesitated and sat back, breaking the trance.

“Sorry.” Dave whispers, because he can’t find anything else to say. He feels hot, everything feels hot, his face, his groin, his ears.

“Don’t be.” John replies equally quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed with Dave, avoiding his gaze just as Dave avoids his.

“It was. Nice.”  Dave says, finally, a little louder. John’s soft laugh and nod is reassuring, and the anxious spiders finally stop clawing their way up his throat.

“Yeah,” John chimes. “It was.”

Dave grabs Johns hands again suddenly, as if desperate and worried he’s going to leave.

“We should do it again. Sometime. If you wanted. Maybe.”

John catches his best-friend-turned-apparently-lovers eyes and smiles wide, and then nods so eagerly that Dave’s stomach flips again.  “Yeah. For sure. But take me to dinner first?”

“I have like, oven-bake pizza in the freezer, and a ton of cake.”

“You’re so romantic.”

Dave laughs, and it comes easy. Its breathless and soft and it feels  _ good _ , there’s no awkwardness or upset, even when tears prick his eyes and John takes his hand worriedly.

“Shit, fuck, uh, did I- I’m sorry, Did I say something-“

“No! Fuck, Egbert, no, I’m just being dumb again. Its like I’ve got a million little moses’ sitting in my brain, splitting the water in my body to both sides and ordering those rivers to overflow from my eyes.”

John looks confused, but amused.  “That makes no sense.”

“I’m really happy.” Dave says, his voice cracking despite his smile as he stares at John with such pretty red hues. “I’m just really, really happy that you didn’t like, push me away and call me a fag or something.”

The boy with wide glasses leans forward and presses a soft kiss to the tip of Dave’s nose, and then he stands and drags Dave to his feet and kisses his nose again.

“That’d be pretty rude of me. I’ll settle for calling you a dumb gay instead.”

Dave’s heart does the flippy thing, and his face burns, but he’s still grinning even as John bends over to pick up his shades and slide them back onto his face.

“This whole thing was coming anyway, right? I mean, we’ve both fallen asleep on the phone too many times together for us to not eventually have a chaotic kiss at some point.”

Dave laughs at that and nods, wiping his eyes one more time before he settles his glasses on his nose and lets his fingers intertwine with John’s. It crosses his mind that they haven’t decided if they’re boyfriends or anything, and yet they’re acting like it, but he decides that right now, he doesn’t fucking care. He’s with John, and that's enough.

“So, romantic dinner without candles or expensive food?

“Lead the way, Romeo.”

****

“You’re late.’

When Dirk arrived at the Alternius Space and Science Exploration Station, or ASSES, on Saturday morning, his first greeting wasn’t supposed to be from his boss. Caliborn English was tall, mean, and had a face like a skeleton, and hovered over Dirk like a fucking ghost. Really, he should have expected to see the man at his work desk, but English had a habit of not liking being in a space so dirty and loud. His black suit was a stark contrast to Dirk’s jumpsuit, the torso tied around his waist to expose his black singlet.

Dirk waved a hand. Anyone else would be terrified to treat _Sir_ Caliborn with such dismissal, but he knew that he wouldn’t fire him. He  _ couldn’t  _ fire Dirk, when he was his best technician and head of robotics. 

“Hal. Morning routine.”

Dirk yawned, ignoring Caliborn as the workshop rippled to life, the ceiling lights flickering on with such power that Dirk shielded his eyes. The robotic arms and delicate machines hummed and purred and tested their finer parts, holographic screens popping up on clean steel benches.

_ ‘Good morning, Dirk.’ _

Hal’s electronic voice chattered, red eyes lighting up in his pointed shades as the AI wakes up. He’s supposed to be only for work, but Dirk has Hal activated in the background of at least his shades most of the time. On one of the screens, a pair of shades moves around and opens applications and command prompts. Little Hal, or, Lil Hal, better known as just Hal, was the clean slate AI that came with Dirk’s job. He’d programmed him with a prototype auto-responder he’d had in storage for his emails and messages, and boom. He had somewhat of a replica of himself in machine form.

“The Apollo crashed.” Caliborn interrupts in his grating tone as Dirk busies himself fussing and clearing benches.

“I’m aware.” Dirk replies coolly, muttering small requests for Hal to carry out. Their voices echo around the room, bouncing off the concrete walls and metal tables and machina.

“Do you know why?” 

Dirk sighs. Of course he’s the first one to be questioned about this shit. He practically built all of the safety procedures, AI, robotics, all the intricacies of that ship with his handiwork in their wiring. He shakes his head as he picks up a pair of small pliers from his desk and moves to the back-end of the room where a humanoid shape stands stock still beneath a tan tarp. 

“Nope.” He says, aware of Caliborn watching him as he begins to work the tarp off of his latest project. “But my guess would be that you tried to bring twelve alien beings from off world to earth in a craft that wasn’t built for it.”

“I asked you to build the containment chambers just in case. So it's your fault.” Caliborn snarls, to which Dirk rounds on him with his pliers and scowls.

“I built those containers for rock samples and small lifeforms. Not for  _ fucking aliens.”  _ He hisses, turning back to the android body he’s working on.

It's modeled after him. His height, his build- Its bald for now, but designed to create its own holographic hair and skin and such. Its sleek black form for now looks dead, like a charred corpse, with wires and suchlike hanging from an opening on its chest. Dirk begins to fiddle with it, Hal chattering in the background about diagnostics and the morning weather.

The man in the suit grits his teeth and grunts. The click of his robotic lower leg on the cement floor is annoying, like a gnat buzzing around Dirk’s head.

“Do you want to see?” Caliborn asks, arms folded, satisfied when Dirk pauses his tinkering to glance at him.

“See what?”

“The aliens.”

Dirk stands straight and places his hands on his hips. This could be a ploy to get Dirk back under his thumb, but the blond  _ is _ curious, and not scared by whatever bribe English can come up with.

“This way.” The taller of the pair booms, turning on his heel to stride from the workshop.

Step. Clink. Step. Clink.

“Hal. Keep the machines warm.”

‘ _ Sure. Want me to make you coffee while I’m at it?’ _

“That’d be nice.”

‘ _ I was kidding. Fuck yourself.’ _

The walk to the main laboratory is short. Dirk and Caliborn walk past countless people talking and comparing notes, staring at fat books and downing coffee after late shifts. They walk past doors and doors of other labs, people, and sights, until they arrive at a grander pair of doors that open into a circular room. There’s a single metal table in the middle of the room, and much to Dirk’s surprise, that is it for furniture.

Dirk is intrigued at first. There are nine cylinders sitting on a metal table in the main lab, which is mostly empty save for a few scientists hovering over petri dishes. The things inside the cases look like different-tinted jelly, that moves, bubbles,  _ breathes. _

Slightly disgusted, Dirk wrinkles his nose, glancing over his shoulder as a couple in lab coats bustle in. Dirk recognizes one, but not the other, a girl with white hair and flushed cheeks, pale skin and gentle eyes.

“Sorry we’re late,” The girl apologies, flashing Dirk a smile that has his stomach doing a flip.

Ugh. Stop thinking with your dick.

The other is Jake. Dirk always pinned him as an astronaut and nothing but, though seeing him here in scientist attire has him questioning himself.

“Calliope. Bring out the test subjects.” Caliborn grunts.

“All of them?”

He glares, and the girl with white hair,  _ Calliope, _ scatters off to the back wall of the room. Twelve glass panels become visible, nine of them holding one person each. Jake falls to stand beside Dirk, easily a few feet taller, broader.

“Is this legal?” Dirk mumbles, to which the other nods.

“These people are all on death row.”

“Wait,” Dirk turns to Caliborn, holding his hand up. “Why do you have nine death row inmates in glass cells?”

English grins so wide it makes Dirk uneasy. He orders Jake to collect one of the canisters, one containing a rather shit-colored goop that seems intent on spreading itself out over the entire interior of the canister. Jake pushes it into a circular opening in the wall beside the glass panel of the first cell, and then presses a series of buttons on the top. The canister hisses. The young man in the cell beside it snaps his head to the side, and Dirk watches the goo leak into the room. As soon as it is out of its containment, it flickers with red and blue, like a storm is erupting from inside it, a stormy array of lightning across its bulbous surface.

What happens next makes Dirks toes curl in his shoes. The substance  _ leaps _ from the wall to the inmate, who screams as it winds around his. Leg and up his thigh, seeping into his clothes and  _ under his skin. _ The majority of it seeps into his mouth, in through his tear ducts, his eyes, his ears, until its gone.

Dirk stifles the urge to vomit. Jake stands by with his hands held stiffly at his sides, but Dirk can see the discomfort on his face as clear as day.  The man falls still. He stands stiffly, like a mannequin, and then looks at his hands, grabs at his chest and stomach.  When he looks up, his eyes glaze over, one red, one blue, and then fade back to normal. The man stares out and straight at Dirk, and opens his mouth to speak.

As he does, though, his face changes. A slick substance takes over his face and his body until the inmate is gone, and instead stands an easily eight foot tall  _ monster _ , with mismatched eyes and black horns protruding double from its head.

It takes two steps forward and places its hands on the glass. Its skin is an odd black-yellow colour, and glistens under the harsh light. It takes Dirk a minute to realize that it's counting the cylinders on the table, but upon only counting nine, it recounts, and then snarls.

Muffledly, Dirk can hear something- no,  _ it _ , ask, ' _ Where is Signless?' _

“Please state your name.” Caliborn orders through an intercom, that makes the monster inside blink. It snarls again, and Jake takes a precautionary step away from the containment chamber.

_ “Where is Signless?”  _ It repeats in a grating tone, making Dirk grit his teeth. Something about this is all wrong.

“They’re symbiotes,” Calliope calls from a computer terminal on the wall. Dirk turns, watching her stare at the creature in the glass room scratch gently at the walls, glaring out at the few people in the room. “They can’t survive out here without a host.”

“ _ There were twelve of us that you stole. Where is Signless?” _

“State your name, and we’ll tell you. Do you have a name?”

_ “Our title is Helmsman.” _

Calliope types away at her terminal.

“Your friend is lost.”  Caliborn explains coolly, not as scared as Dirk and Jake are when  _ Helmsman _ roars and slams on the glass with fists as large as small boulders.

_ “What do you mean lost? Did you kill him? What about Dolorosa?” _

“Are these the names of your friends? Signless isn’t dead. Just lost.”

The Helmsman snarls again, the tips of its horns flickering with blue and red sparks.  _ “Dolorosa. Signless. Marquis. They’re missing.” _

“Who are the rest here, then?” Caliborn asks, gesturing to the table of outlaid aliens in canisters. Helmsman stares at them, and his gaze goes so suddenly helpless and scared that Dirk feels a little bad.

“ _ Let us go.” _

The alien whispers, scratching at the glass again.

_ “What do you want?” _

“You to tell us who this is.”  Caliborn points at the first canister on the table.

“ _ The Condese.” _

He points at the next cylinder.

“ _ Disciple. Summoner. Highblood. Dualscar. Darkleer. Redglare. Handmaid.” _

The helmsman names off each of the canisters as Caliborn points to them, and Dirk blinks. He catches Jake’s eye, and he can tell that he’s thinking exactly the same thing.

That all of this is a steaming heap of bad news.


	4. The Symbiote.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is a bit shorter! I was away at a convention over the weekend and when I got back things kinda spiraled down and i had no motivation to write. The next chapter will be longer though! And more exciting as we get to see Karkat finally oout of his cage and doin' just fine--

“What about the tools in the school workshop?”

“I dunno. There’s no way our teachers will let us bring this into a classroom with the intent of breaking it open.”

Dave stands with John on Sunday morning and stares at the cylinder on his bed. Dirk didn’t come home from work, so John had stayed the night, and Dave still got tingles peeking in the mirror to see the little, accidental bruise on his neck. 

Giddy. John stood beside him with a hand on his chin and one on his hip, and Dave glanced from the canister back to him with butterflies in his stomach.

“What If we sneak it in?”

John stares. He pauses, raises an eyebrow, and hums, stroking his chin in a dramatic-ish way that makes Dave’s heart flutter. Again.

Dave zones out for a minute after staring at the side of John’s face. His thick rimmed glasses, the blue of his eyes, the just of his cheekbones. Memories of last night, kissing, laughing, just being together flash through his mind, and it isn't until John waves a hand in front of his face that Dave snaps out of his stupor.

"Oh! Yeah, yeah. Sneaking it in. All stealthy. We'll be ninjas." 

John laughs at him and nods, and Dave relaxes back into himself a little as the other boy steps forward to grab the canister and heft it under one arm.

"Well- should we go?"  He asks, tipping his head as Dave reels in surprise.

"What- Now?" He asks in a low, fast tone. If Dirk gets home and Dave isn't there- Dave doesn't want to think about what might happen. But at the same time, they might not get another chance to execute their one-step plan. 

"Hold on." Dave interrupts, before John can say anything. He grabs his duffel bag and offers it to John, tossing a change of clothes into it. 

"Put it in." 

John obliges, setting the canister into the bag and zipping it closed. He hefts it onto his shoulder even as Dave offers to take it, and then flashes him a soft smile that melts Dave’s heart again.

“So we’re gonna go to the college-” Dave starts, counting out the pieces of their plan on his fingers. John rolls his eyes while Dave fusses about all the statistical things that could go wrong with breaking into a classroom.

As they both step into the main room, the worst that could happen, happens. 

The front door clicks, the doorknob turns,and Dave’s heart leaps into his throat. He doesn’t have time to warn John or tell him to hide before Dirk is stepping inside in his work clothes, his eyes ringed with Dirk circles, his pointed shades hanging from the front of his singlet.

His orange eyes flick from John to Dave and back again. John, Dave, John, Dave.

“Dave.” Dirk says in a dangerously calm, even tone, one that makes Dave’s skin crawl. “When were you going to tell me that you were having a friend over?”

Dave opens his mouth to speak, but John beats him to the punch.  “I’m John, John Egb-”

“I know who you are. I wasn’t speaking to you.” The older Strider quips, exhaustion and annoyance plain in his voice. Dave shuffles uncomfortably, and John furrows his dark brows and folds his arms.

“I got lonely.” Dave mumbles in a low tone. He can feel Dirk glaring, and his heart is going so fast that he’s worried it might run away from him.

“Hal is hooked up to the computer system. You can talk to him.” Dirk grinds out, folding his own toned biceps over his chest as he stares down his younger sibling.

“Its not the same.”

“You know I don’t like it when you invite people over without telling me.”

“I know.”

“Whats in the bag?”

Dave’s blood runs cold. John re-shoulders the duffel bag almost defensively, and Dirk’s eyebrows run higher on his face.

“Nothing,” Dave lies, voice betraying him with a weak crack. He can  _ feel  _ the way Dirk almost growls. “Just clothes.”

“Clothes? Where are you going?”

“Back to school,” John says in a voice stronger than anything Dave could muster. He can feel the angry heat radiating off of his friend in waves, and it suddenly hits him that John knows. He _knows,_ and there is no way he isn’t mad at Dirk for what he’s done- After all, if it was someone abusing John, Dave would be livid too. “Dave can do what he likes, he’s an adult.”

“Did I ask you?” Dirk snaps, and Dave flinches just slightly at his harsh tone. When Dirk steps closer, Dave steps away ever so slightly, and John widens his stance slightly.

John glares. Dirk does too. Its tense for a moment, and then Dirk laughs. Its bitter, and mean, and Dave knows its a wrathful cackle, but John seems surprised, as if he really believes that there’s nothing wrong. Dirk pats John’s shoulder and steps around him, and then grabs Dave’s shoulder, patting it once, twice.

“It’s all okay,  _ boys. _ ” He drawls, his grip on Dave’s shoulder tightening. Dave winces, Dirk’s fingers finding all the old bruises and bringing them roaring back to painful life. John stares in confusion as Dave’s eyes sting with angry, sore tears, and Dave digs his nails into his palms and stifles a whimper as Dirk’s grip grows to more and more uncomfortable on his bony shoulder. 

“By all means,  _ go. _ ” He chuckles, glaring at Dave from the corner of his eye with a look that speaks death.

But Dave'll deal with Dirk's wrath later.

When Dirk lets Dave go, finally, the blonde grabs John’s arm with the hand attached to his not currently aching arm and drags him out of the apartment before he can say anything else. He looks like he wants to say more, but Dave snarls ‘ _ don’t’ _ so viciously that John seals his lips.

They don’t talk for the whole walk to school. John tries to apologize, tries to ask if he’s okay, but Dave just replies with numbly blunt ‘I’m fine’s,’ and “Its okay’s,’ That tell John that neither of those things are true.

When they get to the school, Dave finally seems to open up. He suggests that they leave Rose and Jade out of their little scheme, to which John agrees, as they make their way down the stairs to the tech-blocks. Wood-tech, Metal-tech, computer-tech- The buildings all stand in a neat little row, stairs to each one leading up to a set of dramatic double doors. Dave climbs said stairs slowly, and then reaches into his back pocket. Nobody is at school on Sunday- at least nobody who has better things to do. Rose and Jade will be here, though, which is why Dave prior suggested avoiding the girls on their way.

He breaks out a bobby pin and proceeds to twist it this way and that until he has what John can only assume will work as a lockpick. The ravenette watches curiously as Dave carefully pokes and prods at the lock with careful fingers. 

“You done this before?” John asks, breaking the uncomfortably silence. Dave only shrugs.

“Once or twice.”

Dave doesn’t say anything else, and John drops the subject as the door clicks and swings open. 

There’s a long hallway with a bunch of doors on either side, each one going to a different classroom, Dave supposes. He’s never been own here before, this is John’s domain.

The darker-haired boy steps inside first and turns into the first classroom. The door swings open easily, and John dumps the duffle bag on one of the counters. They’re in a metal-tech room, but there are a few loose wood panels here and there around.

Dave watches his friend grab few tools from here and there, and heaves himself up onto one of the benches. He reaches over to pull the bag open, and stares down into the abyss of the bag with the canister staring up at him dramatically. The goopish thing inside is writhing and sticking to the glass panel walls of the cylinder. Dave swears he can hear it moving around, but he’s snapped from his stupor when John drags the thing from the bag and starts testing drivers to screws and pliers to bits of protruding metal.

“I’m sorry.” Dave blabs after a moment of watching John work the screws loose on the container.

John grunts. Dave can feel the tension pulling tighter and tighter with every moment, and he kicks his legs, feeling bad now. Of course his pulling away would in turn push John away too. God, good going, Strider. What a moron.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“God- Shit, you didn’t upset me.” John says fast, setting the screwdriver down a little too fast. He wrings his hands for a moment and then sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. Dave feels his chest go tight, and he suddenly feel like crying, grateful for his glasses. “I just wish you’d stand up for yourself.” John breathes.

When Dave sniffles, John’s face softens, and then turns worried, and he steps between Dave’s legs, resting his hands on the others thighs. Sitting on the bench, Dave is taller than John, but he doesn’t mind looking up to catch Dave’s eyes behind his glasses. Dave leans forward and presses his forehead to John’s, and sniffs again, and John feels his heart break into a million tiny pieces.

“I care about you a lot.” John whispers, sliding his hands up Dave’s legs to his thighs where he slips his arms carefully around the others waist and pulls him closer to the edge of the bench, closer towards him. Dave shudders a breath and nods, but doesn’t say anything else.

“I want you to be safe,” John adds, as he brings a hand to the others cheek and wipes a stray tear away with his thumb, cherishing how Dave leans into his hand. “I want you to be happy, but you don’t seem it.”

“I’m happy when I’m with you.” Dave croaks out, bringing his hand up to over John’s on his face, almost nuzzling into his warm palm, turning his head to kiss the inside of his wrist. Cheeks burning with red flush, John smiles and presses his nose to Dave’s cheek, kissing his jaw. 

He goes to say something else, but Dave is already kissing him, sliding his arms slowly around John’s neck to draw him close, and John lets out a contented sigh against his mouth as he rests one hand on the bench to press closer, hugging his other arm around Dave’s thin waist. He wonders how Dave looks without any clothes on. Its a sudden, intrusive thought, and it makes his face hotter than before, but Dave is hugging his thighs around his lovers hips and John thinks about kissing down Dave’s probably bony chest, sucking lovebites into his hips, whispering and crooning against his pale skin, making him feel  _ good _ , making him feel  _ safe  _ and  _ good _ and nothing else.

He isn’t thinking about where they are as his palm grazes just beneath the hem of Dave’s shirt and feels over his side, letting Dave gasp softly into his mouth, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. Dave’s hands move to his hair, and John makes a note to watch Dave eat every single cake John breaks. Jeez, he can feel every single bone under Dave’s skin as the pads of his fingers graze the others ribs.

“J- John..-”

“Wooooow. Didn’t know they were playing ‘Call me by your name’ on a live stage.”  Roses sharp tones have John and Dave jumping away from each other so fast that John bites Dave’s lip and Dave pulls John’s hair, both of them flushed and tending their accidental wounds. Dave is so red he might as well just melt into a puddle of crimson, and John is suddenly very intensely focused on his task of breaking open the canister.

The pale girl stands in the doorway with a broad grin and her arms folded, clearly smug. An embarrassed Jade is trying to tug Rose away, but the Lalonde is clearly not moving.

Dave glares with cheeks as hot as fire.  “Cockblock.”

“You’re trying to get it on in a tech room, Dave. That's a new low. When were you gonna tell me you were swinging it with John?”

“Don’t say it like that.” John whines, hunched over the canister to hide his own red face.

She’s had enough fun pretty soon though, and Roses stare turns a little more sour.  “Pray tell why you’re breaking into a school classroom on a Sunday?”

Dave fixes his shirt and tries to ignore the way his skin tingles where John touched him.  “Noneya.”

“I thought you were home for the weekend.”

“I was.” Dave sniffs, folding his arms defensively as his cheeks finally decide to take a chill pill.

“And?”

“And now I’m not.”

The look on Dave’s face tells Rose not to pry, and she gives a sigh, falling silent as Jade crouches to play with Beq. John calls a greeting, with both the girls reply to, and pulls a face.

John sticks his tongue out as he leans over the last panel of the cylinder. With most of the screws undone, now, the plating is loose, and should come apart—

_ Crack. Bang! _

With a loud noise like a gunshot, the creature inside the canister throws itself against the glass panel. With all of the screws loose, the cylinder simply falls open and apart with a hiss, and Jade screams as a mess of  _ goop _ and glass tumbles and slaps onto the floor.

"Oh god, oh fuck-" Dave curses, slipping off of the bench and staggering backwards as John yelps and follows sit in backing the fuck up. Beq is barking, having jumped to guarding Jade and Rose behind his puffed up rear, snapping at the goop on the ground that is  _ moving _ , now. Rose is fumbling with her phone, and Jade is screaming for John to ' _get it, get it!'_ as Dave frantically stumbles away from the goop that is slowly shambling t owards him.

"Dave-!" John yells, and Dave shouts back an affirmation as he grabs for a hammer that sits on the workbench. He's still backing up as the goop advances on him, his feet shuffling on the tiles of the floor. One, two- crack.  He falls over backwards, suddenly, gravity yanking his back and head towards the hard ground beneath him. As he half sits up, groaning, he sees a bar of plywood laying at his heels, half-out from under the bench. Dave  isn't really thinking or paying attention as the mass sticks to his foot, only noticing the weight on him when something cold touches his leg, and he notices the slime seeping into his jeans.

"Oh my god, oh my god-"  Dave gasps, reaching to yank the thing from his leg. Instead, though, it just grabs onto his hands, and Dave screams as he can feel it start to sink into his skin like a gross moisturizer, tendrils of red-black goo seeping and squelching between his fingers. He yells again, and John is suddenly there, trying to pull the thing from him, but as he does, the symbiotic goop leaps from his hands and onto Dave's face, and everything goes black.

_ “Dave-” _

_ “Dave!” _


	5. The voice.

His head hurts. His face hurts.

Its so bright- It hurts his eyes. Fuck, when did it get so bright?

"Sir, please-"

"Get out of my way.”

Voices. He can hear voices, but he can't make out who they are.

"Mister Strider, please-"

"That's my brother, get out of my way."

When Dave finally opens his bleary eyes, he struggles to breathe for a moment. His head is aching so badly, he thinks he might actually be splitting open.

He moans in pain, and then there are hands on his face, gentle, warm.

"Dave? Hey, little man, come on-"

"Dirk..-"

He groans. Squints one eye open. Dirk is leaning over him, and for the first time in his life, Dave sees him looking- worried. What, for him? Psh.

His hair is disheveled, and Dirk feels carefully over Dave's face as if checking for wounds. He lets out a weak laugh, one that isn't actually mean this time, and Dave swats his hands away once he has the strength.

"Shit, you scared the piss out of me."

"I'm fine."  Dave mutters, sitting up to reach for the water bottle that sits on his bedside. He's in the infirmary, it seems, white curtains drawn around him, a nurse standing in the corner, Dirk at his bedside. Dave doesn't think he's ever seen Dirk at his bedside. Now like this, looking so worried, at least.

"The kids said you collapsed."

Dave blinks. Tries to remember.  Bits and pieces come back to him- The symbiote. John. Rose. Yelling. Falling over. Dave grunts and swallows a mouthful of water, but it tastes like acid and burns his throat.

"....said your heart stopped for a good minute, I was terrified you were-"

Dave isn't listening, but when he does zone back in, Dirk is talking about how worried he was that Dave almost died. Dave doesn't believe a goddamn word, but his heartstrings pull in the direction of accepting his brother's care.  But it's bullshit, for sure. Dirk doesn't care. He's incapable of it.

"My heart stopped?" Dave croaks, his voice sluggish with sleep. He looks to the nurse, who gestures to the bracelet around his wrist that seems to monitor his pulse and oxygen levels.

"Yes." The woman says softly. "We called your next of kin as soon as we were having complications. we suggested taking you to the hospital, but-"

"I don't like hospitals. I'm not going."

The nurse nods. "Your brother said so."

Dave squints, looks from nurse to sibling. He  mentioned hating hospitals years ago. Since when does Dirk remember shit like that?

"We need to… talk." Dirk mumbles, playing with his fingers, and for once, Dave sees anxiety flip across his stoic face. 

"Okay." Dave says dryly, sighing.

"About-"

"Fuck, not now, okay? My head is splitting."

"Don't get rowdy with me, boy." Dirk growls at him, and Dave flinches away from the sharp tone, which Dirk seems to notice. He reels himself in, though, rather than lash again, and Dave is starting to wonder which realisation finally woke up and kicked Dirk so hard that  _ he _ properly woke up.  He's almost… brotherly, now.

"I'll take you home." Dirk says, getting to his feet.  "You can't stay here, sick like this."

Dave frowns. He doesn't feel that sick, just nauseated, maybe, but the heart rate monitor on his wrist says that he's got a fever of at least 38°C, and his heart is racing. The nurse at the end of the bed hands Dirk a small bag of what seems to be medicine, and is explaining something, but her voice seems faraway, faraway….

_ DAVE. _

With a jolt, Dave looks around himself. He heard someone say his name, but there is nobody else here except Dirk and the nurse, and they're both currently locked in conversation.

_ DAVE, YOU PUTRID NOOKFIEND. _

_ " _ What?"

When Dave speaks aloud, Dirk turns to him, and the nurse stops talking abruptly.

"We didn't say anything. Not to you, anyway." Dirk explains, frowning. 

The nurse leans towards Dirk and hides her mouth with her hand, whispering;  'He's been talking to himself in his sleep for the past few hours.'

Dave pulls a face. Whatever he was hearing, it's gone now, and he struggles to sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bed.  "Where's John?"  He asks, rubbing his face.

Shit, it's so bright.

"In class." Dirk explains, meandering over to his side of the bed as Dave gets to his feet.

Instantly, his legs buckle, and he collapses into Dirk's arms, who was somehow fast enough to catch him. His vision is blurry, black, and he can see stars, the world spinning around him.

"Don't… touch me…" Dave mumbles groggily as Dirk hooks his arms around him and hefts him to stand again. 

"I got you." Dirk mutters under his breath.

"No you don't."

"You're delerious." 

Dave makes to say something else, but he can't, because he's gasping for air as Dirk picks him up, dramatically bridal-style, one arm under his knees, another under his shoulders. Dave would say something about this being gay, or dumb, but he feels strangely okay here for at least the moment as he grabs for Dirk's shirt.

The nurse and his brother talk for another moment, exchange phone numbers, ( Purely for emergencies, what if Dave gets worse? ) And then Dirk is carrying him out of the room and down the hall.

Dave thinks he falls asleep at some point, because when he opens his eyes, he's in Dirk's car, blearily opening his eyes and stretching from his uncomfortable position. Dirk has his eyes trained on the road, but he glances over to Dave once he notices his wakefulness.

"You're up. How do you feel?"

Dave doesn't answer for a minute. He feels like he has to get his bearings, look around, figure out exactly what stretch of road that they're on.

Ah, yeah. Okay. There's that flower shop. The cafe, the grocer…

"I asked you a question." Dirk repeats.

"Like someone put my head into a blender and set the thing to  _ pulverise _ , and then put it into a tumble drier and set the spin cycle to  _ hot _ , and hasn't taken me out yet."

Dirk purses his lips.  "There are painkillers and water in the back seat."

Dave doesn't dare turn around. He already feels like spewing his lunch all over the dash, and he doesn't think Dirk will appreciate the new decor in his only means of travel.

He still doesn't understand why Dirk is being so fucking good about all this. Dirk never traveled to school to see if he was okay. He never picks Dave up if not to throw him down. He never says that they 'need to talk'. He never worries about him, he never tries, fuck, Dave hasn't even ever been inside his car. Now that he is, though, it's a pretty shitty little Holden something-or-other, with old food wrappers and empty cans of energy drink in every available holder.

This change of heart makes Dave uneasy.

"What happened?" Dirk asks next, and Dave sighs. He can barely remember. They went to school to break open the symbiote, and then it all went to shit, the symbiote jumped onto his face, and the rest is black in his head.

He wonders if John got the thing back in containment. 

Oh, shit, his phone!

When he digs it out of his pocket to the tune of his throbbing headache, he sees about a hundred texts from John, Rose, and Jade.  There's even one from Jane.

**John, 12:45am;**

  * _Oh my god, man, are you okay?_


  * Dude, you went to the infirmary like three hours ago


  * Dude


  * Dude? 


  * You okay?


  * Man… 


  * You probably won't see this for a while, but uh


  * The symbiote thing is safe..


  * so you don't have to worry about that


  * The thing is that its safe


  * uh


  * Inside you?


  * i guess


  * It like


  * went in your mouth and eyes and 



Dave puts his phone down so fast that the movement makes his head throb. He reaches to rub at his eyes and sees stars, grunting at Dirk's question when he finally chooses to try and answer.

"I don't know." He manages, skipping through whatever other worried texts that his friends had sent. He doesn't know what to do, or think, or-

_ DAVE. _

There. Again. The voice. This time, Dave is staring directly at Dirk, so he knows its not him saying it. Dave gapes for a second, gobsmacked that he's hearing things.

He's also really hungry suddenly.

"Can we stop for food?" Dave asks in a soft voice, and Dirk glances at him and pulls a face.

"There's— food at home."

Dave sighs. He  _ knows _ that, but the food at home requires  _ making _ , and-

"I'll cook something when we get there."

"Okay, what the fuck, man?"

The words leave Dave's mouth before he can stop them, a sudden rush of angry-confused emotion welling up inside him. He isn't even sure it's  _ him _ speaking.

"You beat me up and down and around for years, terrorise me with dolls and shit, ignore me and all the rest, and now you suddenly want to be a good big brother to me?"

Dirk doesn't say anything. He sets his jaw and grips the steering wheel harder, and that just makes Dave angrier.

"I've looked after myself for years, I don't need you stepping in and all over my shit now."

"Damn it, Dave!" Dirk yells, slamming the brakes on when he realises that the light is  _ red _ , letting out a frustrated groan that sounds like a snarl. Dave's heart pounds in his chest, and he's gripping the seat on either sides of his thighs with a white-knuckle grip.

"I  _ know _ , okay, I  _ know _ that I've been a shit-abusive brother, okay? An'— an' I know that you don't need me," Dirk starts, resting his forehead against the steering wheel for a moment. "Nothing can excuse the shit that I've done, but you almost  _ died.  _ Your heart  _ stopped. _ "

Dave stares at his brother with eyes so wide they might as well just fall out of his head. He feels so hot, like he's running a fever, but Dirk's words are also somehow like a really cool drink of water>

"When I got the call, it was like somethin' snapped. Somethin' clicked. You might not need me, an' tha's fine, I can- I can deal with that—" Dirk glances over at Dave, and looks at him with such a genuine look in his eyes that it makes his stomach coil. 

"But I can't lose you."

The silence in the car is deafening. As much as Dave wants to crack the door open and fall onto the road, letting some semi-trailer run over his head, he knows that he won't, and that he can't. 

His eyes sting with tears, and this might be the worst part.

Dirk sets his jaw and looks back to the road, and Dave averts his gaze as well. 

"I'm- I'm gonna try an' be better."

"Its a bit fucking late." Dave snaps, and again, he doesn't know where it comes from. Or- Well, he does, it comes from the bubbling anger and confusion and upset that ripples in his stomach, but he doesn't know why he  _ says  _ it. On any other day he'd be terrified of saying something to upset Dirk. 

"Where were you when I was a toddler? When I needed a brother, huh? You say you're training me, but for what? Where's the care when I've got bruises and bumps and I need a hug? Where are you when I need a goddamn hug from my big brother?" Dave's voice cracks, and he hates how weak it makes him sound. He watches Dirk's adams apple bob when he swallows, and he's suddenly grateful that Dirk isn't fixing him with a stare.

"Nobody taught me how to do this." 

Dirk whispers, white-knuckle-gripping the steering wheel as they come to a stop for the next set of lights.

Dave scoffs as the first tears roll down his face.  "Yeah. Nobody taught me shit either."

Reaching for his bag, ignoring how everything inside of him protests, Dave opens the side door to the beeping and yelling of traffic. He angrily flips off some guy that's calling him a little shit, and ignores Dirk's cries after him as he weaves through cars onto the sidewalk.

Fuck that. Fuck him. Fuck Dirk. How dare he come up with this shit. 'I'm gonna try and be better.'

He should have been trying years ago. And what, he expects Dave to believe him?

_ THAT WAS A PITIFUL DISPLAY _ .

Dave looks around. What the fuck-

_ ARE YOU LISTENING, DAVE STRIDER? PAY ATTENTION. WE NEED TO EAT. _

"I don't know who you are, but shut the fuck up." Dave says in a voice too loud for the fact that he's walking down the street and nobody he can see is talking to him. He rubs his eyes. He feels so hot- Like his skin is on fire, and he's sweating bullets.

_ WE NEED TO EAT. NOW. _

Without thinking, and without being sure that it's even him moving his legs anymore, Dave turns into a pet shop. A pet shop?

Dave blinks. No. He- What? He didn't make the conscious decision to be here, what's going on-

_ HUNGRY. _

"No. Nope. Nuh Uh. Fuck you. Fuck me. Fuck this."

Dave squeaks, turning around and walking himself out of the store to the confused glares of the patrons and service ladies. Back on the street, his head throbs worse than before, and he has to stop and crouch against the building as his stomach gasps and growls.

_ WE'RE HUNGRY, DAVE. GODDAMN, YOU HUMANS ARE USELESS _ .

"Shut the fuck up, oh my god." Dave whimpers pitifully, holding his head. He looks up and around, vision dancing, and then, a ray of hope.

_ 'Jane's baked goods.' _

_ YES. GO THERE. GET FOOD. _

Dave doesn't need some disembodied voice that's probably just his own head telling him to do shit. He gets to his staggering feet and makes a beeline for John's aunts store, which is mostly empty except for a few old ladies.

Jane is putting cakes into boxes and taking money, but as soon as she sees Dave pushing in the door, she all but throws it to the wind and rushes towards him.

"Dave! Great scott, you look like a mess, are you okay? Shouldn't you be at school? Is it Dirk?"

_ TELL THIS WOMAN TO BACK OFF, HER BREATH IS SICKLY SWEET AND ITS MAKING OUR STOMACH TURN. _

Stomach turning, yes, but Jane's voice is a comfort, and Dave almost collapses into her arms. She makes swift apologies to her customers and coaxes Dave around the back-side of her pastry display, and hands out the cakes to her patrons before announcing that the store is closed.

She sits Dave down just behind the racks of bread, and before he knows what he's doing, he's grabbing a still-warm baguette and shoving it into his mouth.

It tastes like heaven. Jane stares at him as he eats the whole thing and starts another, but she doesn't comment on it.

"I'm sorry." Dave croaks between mouthfuls of warm bread as tears start to dance down his cheeks. He sniffles pitifully and wipes his face, and Jane croons and crouches in front of him, placing her hands on his knees.

"Oh, Dave, don't be. You can have as many baguettes as you want."

_ GOOD. _

Dave laughs. Not at the voice, but at Jane telling him to have as many warm breadsticks as he can eat. She stands up and pats his hair, and then turns around and fetches him some water while he starts another fresh breadstick.

"What's going on, Dave? Is it Dirk?"

Dave downs the water as Jane brings it to him, and is already feeling better when she sits down at his side. She places a hand on his shoulder, and he feels everything relax- Jane is just… warm. And soft, and kind, and motherly,- Dave needs that, right now.

Dave can't get the words out. Instead, he croaks a choked sob and puts his breadstick down on the plastic table in front of him, and lets Jane pull him into her and hug him tight.

"Shhhh, shh." Jane whispers, letting him sob openly and loudly into her shoulder, patting his back and stroking his hair and everything Dave has every wanted and needed from a mom, fuck, from  _ anyone. _ He bawls his goddamn eyes out, and Jane just  _ lets him _ , and it's the best thing ever.

When he's finally done, Jane still doesn't let him go until he's ready. Her shirt is wet with his tears and snot, but she doesn't seem to mind a bit, offering her apron for him to dry his face on.

"No-" Dave all but moans in upset, his throat stuffy and his eyes sore from crying. "I mean, yes, its Dirk, but not because he's being mean." 

Jane keeps a hand on his knee, rubbing circles with her thumb comfortingly as Dave reaches for another bite of his baguette. 

"i had a stroke or something at school. Like, nuclear grade panic attack and apparently almost died or some shit." He explains, watching Jane's eyes go wide from the corner of his vision. She doesn't press though, letting him sniffle and eat.

"So Dirk turns up, and suddenly he wants to be a good brother, like me almost dying is the first time and it flicked some goddamn switch."

Jane sets her jaw as she thinks, and sits back in her chair. 

“I can’t imagine what that’s like, Dave, I’m sorry.” She breathes, reaching towards the rack of pastries for a snack of her own. She stares at it in thought, and Dave watches. 

Why couldn’t he have had her for a guardian? Or Jake? Or literally anyone else? Why’d he have to get stuck with Dirk?

“Is it such a bad thing if he wants to try and be better, though?” Jane asks, and Dave’s first response is an angry one, but he stops to think about it for a moment and supposes that no, as spontaneous as it is, he would sort of like to maybe try and mend their relationship, if Dirk is going to put the effort in.

“It’s just hard,” Dave starts, the raging ache in his head starting to subside and the vicious hunger as well. “Because I’ve only ever known him as this abusive ass, and now he suddenly wants to be good? Why? Because he doesn’t want to be alone? Seems selfish.”

Jane nods in acknowledgement and sighs as her phone blips. She glances down at it, and back up at Dave, and sighs again.

“Its your brother.”

His face contorts into a scowl. “I’m not ready to talk to him yet.

“He just wants to know if you’re with me.”

“Why?”

“To make sure you’re safe, I presume.”

“This is bullshit!” Dave exclaims suddenly, standing up and almost flipping the light plastic table they’re sitting at. Jane doesn’t move, but watches him sadly as he starts to pace.

“This is so dumb! For all I know, he’s just being nice now so that he can go right back to how he was.”

He snaps, running his hands through his hair.

_ SO KILL HIM. _

Dave pauses. He turns to Jane slowly with wide eyes, and blinks.

“What did you say?

The baker looks a little taken aback. “I said that if this turns out to be a momentary lapse in Dirk’s asshole-ness, you can come and stay with me until you’re old enough to move out.”

_ NO! JUST KILL HIM. _

Dave rubs his face and meanders back to his chair, sinking into it. Jane refills his glass and gets him a cupcake, one with copious amounts of blue icing and a pair of glasses on top. He’s immediately reminded of John, and he starts to feel better as he reaches for the age.

“I was running out of ideas for designs one night,” Jane starts, watching how tenderly Dave stares at the decorative black-rimmed glasses settled on the top of the icing. “Then I looked over at John, and saw so much potential, so many ideas, so-  _ much _ .”

“Yeah. John’s pretty great.” Dave mumbles, wondering where Jane is going with this.

“Dirk has potential too.” She says softly, leaning over the table slightly. “Its not an excuse, but nobody was there to see that in him. He grew up bitter and twisted and angry that somehow, everyone could see so much in his little brother, but nobody looked at him.”

“So he’s just jealous.”

“He’s  _ sad, _ Dave.” Jane reaches across the table and takes Dave’s hand stroking her thumb over his knuckles carefully. He looks up at her and swallows, and then stares back down at his cake.

“Nothing can ever excuse what he’s done to you, no. I’m- irreversibly angry that I didn’t see it sooner, and by jove ’m sure that if Jake knew about what was going on, he’s give a much more physically stern talking to him than what Roxy would give.”

Dave cracks a small smile at that, and wipes his eyes with his spare hand without taking his glasses off.

“You’re so strong, Dave. You’re so brave, and you’ve even through so much. If you can give your brother a second chance, to help him be better for you- Shouldn’t you? And if not for anyone else- for me?”

He looks back up at her again as she speaks, and thinks it over in his head. She makes some good points, as much as he wants to deny being brave or strong or anything like that, but-

“Yeah.” Dave murmurs in reply, nodding slowly. “Yeah, I’ll… I’ll make an effort, if he does.”

“You don’t have to be the best of family right away, obviously.” Jane adds with a small smile, her phone set down on the table where Dave can see the countless messages from Dirk popping up, all of them spouting worried- stuff, about Dave.

Maybe he is going to try and be better.

“But give him a chance. If it doesn’t work, I’ll wisk you away and tell Dirk to go fuck Hal, okay?”

Dave laughs as Jane’s smart way of saying she’ll tell Dirk to ‘Go fuck himself’, and nods. He takes a bite of the cake, and even as icing coats his lips and chin, everything feels like it might be okay.

“Tell him I’m on my way home.” Dave asks Jane, wiping the blue from his mouth and sucking it off his fingers in a way that would probably have John squirming. Jane smiles, an obliges with a few taps on her screen, and then makes a noise and jumps to her feet. Instantly, she’s collecting up cakes and bread and croissants and stuffing them into a box, and handing it to Dave even though he protests.

“We have food-!” He exclaims, unable to help the broad smile across his face as Jane loads more baguettes into the top of the box.

“I know, I know! But you’re so small, and honestly, Dirk is such a twig too, you both clearly don’t get enough, and I make so many leftovers th-“

“Thanks, Aunty Jane.” Dave interrupts, stopping the bakers flow of words with a grateful smile. She pats his hair fondly, and he sets the box down to give her a warm hug, which she returns.

“You two boys…” She sighs, planting a kiss to Dave’s blond strands, closing her eyes as she holds Dave tight enough that he thinks he might actually just- stay here, where he feels this safe, forever.

“Okay, now go, scram, don’t make your brother wait.” Jane urges after another long moment, handing Dave his box again, since she  _ saw _ the sneaky way he tried to put it down and just  _ pretend  _ not to pick it back up. He gives her another broad smile, then, and makes his way for the door,

Making his way home.


	6. Sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowowow This took a while- Its a bit short, and i'm sorry for that, but hopefully i'll be able to update more regularly if I leave chapters a bit shorter.
> 
> Thank everyone so much for all your comments!! It means so much and I'm always excited to write more after seeing all the love everyone has for this fic.
> 
> If you create fanart or mini-stories to do with this au, don't be afraid to reach out/tag me on twitter @apiaristic !
> 
> Enjoy the chapter, and if you feel like it- leave a comment below telling me if you'd prefer to see more of Dirk's perspective, or some of Kanaya's, even, in the next chapter. ;)
> 
> \- Bee.

Somewhere else…..

A field of golden wheat that stands as tall as a man praises the sky in gentle bows as the mid morning breeze rocks through the tall stalks, totally oblivious to the oncoming danger that rumbles through it. 

A combine harvester bumbles through the field, the operator inside a pudgy man wearing loose overalls and a button up-shirt beneath. Chewing a toothpick, as all good farmhands do, he cranks levers and carefully maneuvers the massive machine in careful lines around the field of yellow.

Suddenly, the cab of the machine shakes, and a horrible grinding sound like someone trying to force chains through a shredder, or nails on a chalkboard erupts from the harvester beneath him, and the farmhand's face goes from one of placid boredom to one of sudden confusion. The harvester bumps and grinds and hollers, and careful hands quickly bump and tug on levers and controls until the combine bumbles to a stop.

Slipping from the cab, thick boots hit the dirt and and stride through the stalks of wheat from the side of the harvester around to the front, the huge threshing blades intimidating enough that when the man bends down to check the underside of the machine, he gives the sharp parts a wide berth.

One of the huge blades is dented, and inside the conveyor belt that transports the sliced grain, little pieces of chipped metal and glass mix with the threshed wheat.

He curses. This is exactly not what he needs, a problem with his employer's machine.

He crouches down and reaches to pick some of the glass from the belt.

As he does, something cold and slimy drops from above the belt and attaches to his hand. He screams and falls over backwards to see the mass of jade-black goop that is slowly enveloping his arm, and he swipes at it with his free hand, yelling as he propels himself backwards through the stalks of wheat. The apparently living mass moves up his arm as he yells, and then in a flying leap that should not be possible by something with no legs or arms, sinks into his face.

The bowing wheat is only disturbed now by a man with jade-green eyes standing up in the midst of it, a few meters from his now abandoned harvester.

He looks left, right, and then with staggering, bumbling steps, makes for the highway that borders the field.

***

It takes Dave maybe fifteen minutes to walk home. He chows down on the various cakes and other things, and thinks. Thinks about how his life might start going uphill if Dirk really is trying to be better.

Maybe they'll start going out to music festivals together. Maybe they'll watch movies, be brothers-

_ DON'T GET YOUR HOPES UP, FLESHSUIT. _

The voice again. Dave still doesn't know who or what it is, or why it's in his head. Maybe he had a concussion when he fell, and now he's got schizophrenia or some stupid shit. He huffs and picks up the pace, thinking back on his messages from John, that he never did reply to.

' _ It crawled inside you. In your mouth, your eyes-' _

Dave stops. His mind is working overdrive with all of the thoughts that bombard his brain, and he even finds himself, for a moment, looking for some input from the voice, but it's gone.

He swallows the dry in his throat, or tries to, and keeps walking on shaking legs. The anxiety that’s wrapped around his stomach and clawing up his ribcage is overwhelming, and he grips the box that Jane gave him tighter.

No way.

No way. He knew he shouldn't have touched that container. Maybe he's gotten some horrific disease, and now he's going to slowly go crazy and die. 

Imagine that.

Dave Strider, died of ingesting alien sickness because he couldn't keep his grubby hands to himself.

Unless he’s got like, superpowers now. That’d be cooler than dying.

Dave turns the corner onto his street. There’s some guy being arrested in front of a supermarket, and he wonders for a moment what he’d do with superpowers if he had them. Become a vigilante hero? Save people? Or would he become an angry, vengeful villain?

He climbs the stairs up to his apartment slowly, and tries not to think about himself becoming the bad guy in his own story as he moves to knock on the door. As he does, he finds it unlocked, which makes him start. Dirk never leaves it unlocked, and some part of him says; 'It's because he wanted you to come home,' but he brushes that thought away.

No sooner than he gets in the door does he hear his brother's voice from his office.

"Goddamn it,  _ no _ , I told you. I wasn't at the site last night. Wha- No. No. I don't know, why the fuck are you asking me? . . . . . No. No. Look, Mr English— Fucks sake. Why me? I'm busy."

Dave sets the box of food down on the kitchen bench. There's some burning eggs and bacon on the stove, so Dave turns the heat off, trying not to listen in on his brother's phone call. It's a bit difficult, though, when he's huffing and cursing like a goddamn sailor. Dave wonders who he’s talking to, but it becomes obvious pretty fast.

"What do you mean that you know where the others are?” Dirk grunts. “The names? Yeah, I remember them. Dolorosa or some shit, right? Yeah. Yeah. Mmhm. Uh. Oh. You tracked the canisters, that makes sense."

Dave's blood suddenly runs cold. He reaches to grip the bench, holding himself up as his stomach drops into his groin. The canisters? Tracked? The same one that landed on their apartment roof? The one he pinched and possibly ingested the contents of?

"... My apartment? No, there's been nothing here."

Dave thinks back up to the damaged roof. The fire. The rubble. If Dirk’s boss, the same boss that he’s heard Dirk say wouldn’t hesitate to maim someone is looking for the canisters, and  _ he stole one-  _

Suddenly feeling violently sick, he runs for the trashcan and gasps, once, twice, gags, and then throws up everything he ate in the past two hours in three disgusting gags into the trashcan. He’s a criminal, a thief. In the background, he can hear;

"My brother is home. Gotta go. Non-negotiable. Bye."

Then footsteps. 

"Dave? Oh, shit. Dave?"

Dave stays hunched over the bin, shaking violently. He jumps when Dirk's hand falls on his shoulder, and Dirk recoils, and then tries again. Dave doesn't flinch this time, and Dirk rubs circles into his back as he moans and chokes on nothing as his stomach and throat spasm. After a moment, Dirk helps him to the kitchen table and offers him some water and a towel to wipe his face. He 'tsks' at the burnt food on the bench, and then slides into a chair that he's dragged in front of Dave. Dave downs the water thirstily, grateful for the way it soothes his throat.

"How do you feel?" Dirk asks, watching as Dave sets the water down on the table.

"Still going with my blender analogy." Dave breathes, rubbing his eyes after he pulls his shades from his face and sets them on the table beside himself.

"Still that bad?"

"Mm." Dave hunches, resting his face in his hands, elbows on his knees.

More silence. It's not as deafening or uncomfortable this time though.

"I have to go to work tonight. I'll probably be gone until tomorrow evening too." Dirk murmurs softly, which Dave’s headache appreciates.

Dave hums, nods. He feels bad now, not telling Dirk about the canister that landed on the roof. He wonders if his brother even knows about the damage on the roof. 

"If you want to have John over, that's okay." Dirk adds in another whisper, and Dave nods again.

He's still not sure about this change. It seems false, like a joke, but at the same time..- He desperately wants to believe that Dirk is better. Or trying to be, better.

Dirk stands up, and glances at the box on the bench with all of the cakes in it. He shakes his head and sighs out a  _ 'Come on, Jane,'  _ before he moves to start packing things into his work bag.

"Can I have a hug?" Dave suddenly asks, getting to his feet a little too fast. His head spins, and he holds onto the table beside him as Dirk pauses and turns to him.

"A- a hug."

"Yeah."

"From me."

"No, from your goddamn shades. I’ve always wanted to be enveloped by the loving arms of your pointy glasses, and have only now grown the balls of steel to request an embrace from them."

Dirk's lips quirk up, and Dave wonders for a moment if he's going to smile- but Dirk doesn't smile. He assumes that his brother is smiling on the inside, though, and Dirk drops his bag to walk over to Dave. He stands in front of him awkwardly, while Dave stares expectantly and then huffs. Must he really do everything himself?

He wraps his arms around his brothers shoulders, Dirk is stiff, and Dave can hear his breathing catch, but after a moment of awkwardness, Dirk slides his arms around Dave and pulls him close.

For someone so harsh and mean so often, Dirk gives pretty good hugs.

“I appreciate that you’re going to try and be better.” Dave says after a moment, resting his head on his brother’s shoulder. “I don’t know why you chose now, or if you’ll even manage to be nice for longer than eight consecutive seconds, but I- I appreciate whatever effort you make, and I- I’ll make an effort too.”

“I know that this doesn’t make up for all the times I’ve been a prick.” Dirk mutters into Dave’s hair, grateful that the hug is lasting longer than the four seconds he anticipated. He takes a breath and sighs. “I know that you don’t forgive me and that being better for the future doesn’t excuse the past.”

Dave nods, and he thinks he feels tears pricking at his eyes. There’s another moment of silence before Dirk says; “I’m sorry, and I love you, Dave.”

“I love you too.” Dave whispers back, before the hug breaks and Dirk wipes his eyes beneath his shades. There's an odd warmth in his chest, and Dave finds himself smiling a little, though he can’t totally seem to help it.

Dirk hefts his bag onto his shoulder, and Dave watches him as he makes for the door.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

Dave nods at him, still a little emotionally confused and- raw, like somebody just scrubbed his brain and all of his insides with a metal brush.

“Be safe.” Dave calls somewhat awkwardly, as Dirk pushes out the front door, finally, and is gone.

_ GODDAMN, THAT WAS MORE AWKWARD THAN WATCHING A WRIGGLER TRY TO EMERGE FROM ITS BIRTHING SAC. _

There. Again. Its unmis-fucking-takeable, the voice in his head, and Dave huffs loudly.

“What the fuck, okay? Who the fuck are you, and why are you in my head?”

_ OH, SO NOW YOU ACKNOWLEDGE ME. _

Dave does a double take. He didn’t expect to get an answer, already so sure that the voice in his head really is just a voice, but maybe- maybe it's not. He sinks back into his seat at the kitchen table before he falls over.

“So you’re…. Real, then. Not just some schizophrenic representation of my self-hate?”

_ DAVE, IF I WERE A REPRESENTATION OF YOUR SELF HATE, I WOULD BE SO MICROSCOPIC YOU COULDN'T EVEN SEE ME WITH A MICROSCOPE, YOU SELF-CENTRED MEATHEAD. _

“Rude. I hate myself just enough to not be a dick, thanks.” 

He folds his arms. There's an odd sensation in his stomach, like his guts all decided to suddenly start twisting all at once.

_ LET ME MAKE THIS EASIER. _

Suddenly, Dave can feel his spine tingle. Like someone is dragging feathers across and up his skin, and he shudders. There’s noise like an emptying sink, and then dark tendrils of red-black goop start to appear around his side like floating water, flowing, dancing, almost. More appear, from his left, his right, and he sits frozen still in his chair until the goop all melts and slips together, forming the upper torso of-

A- man?

The thing hovering in front of him doesn’t seem like a man. It's made entirely of the black goop that seems to be coming from Dave, and its rather stocky, Bright red lines decorate its torso in patterns and shapes, and stripe across what appear to be horns protruding from its goopy hair. Its eyes are bright red slits, and its mouth is a seemingly forever-open cave of bright, sharp teeth.

“Oh my god.” Is all Dave can muster.

_ ‘GOD, YOU REALLY ARE PATHETIC.’ _

“Oh my god, oh my god, you- You’re-”

_ ‘AN ALIEN, SYMBIOTICALLY BOUND TO YOU, PART OF YOUR EVERY THOUGHT AND EMOTION, YES. ARE YOU CAUGHT UP YET?’ _

Dave opens and shuts his mouth like a fish out of water. He’s leaning so far back in his chair that he’s almost worried he’s going to fall backwards out of it, and he’s pretty sure he’s trembling.

“W-Who- Who are you?” He manages to ask, struggling to keep his voice from wavering.

_ ‘OUR TITLE IS SIGNLESS. OUR NAME IS KARKAT.’ _

_ “ _ Karkat. Ok, ok, Karkat.”

The thing surges forward towards is face, and Dave yelps, throwing himself backwards with the chair and landing on his back.

‘ _ YOU WILL CALL US BY OUR TITLE! NOT OUR NAME, YOU HAVE NOT EARNED THAT RIGHT.’ _

Dave groans and rubs his aching head. It feels like there are a million tiny hands pulling his brain apart and trying to sew it back together, but at the same time, he wonders if it's just this- Karkat, messing with him. God, he feels so sick. He could honestly just lie here and not move. 

‘ _ ARE YOU KIDDING ME? GET UP.’ _

“No.” Dave mumbles drowsily. His body feels heavy, all of him feels heavy, and it's too much. He’s one with an alien that apparently hates him, his brother suddenly doesn’t want to be a dick-

He lets his eyes slip shut to Karkat hovering over him in a gelatinous man-shaped cloud, and lets everything fade to black.

***

When he wakes up, he’s in bed. There’s a cold cloth on his head, and his hair feels wet. It still feels like the aftermath of a really shitty rave in his head, but there’s no headache. He appreciates that, though the replacement of cotton wool isn’t much better.

_ ‘OH GOOD, YOU DIDN’T DIE.’ _

Dave groans and sticks his fists into his eyesockets. “So this isn’t a dream, and you’re not some dumb hallucination.”

‘ _ I’M AS REAL AS YOUR DEATH WISH. SERIOUSLY, WHO LAYS IN A PUDDLE OF THEIR OWN SICK FOR HOURS?’ _

The comment confuses him, but Dave doesn’t have time to ask what Karkat in his head means before John is pushing into his bedroom with bowl in his hand and a bottle of water. He almost drops it when he sees Dave awake, and he rushes to the others side and grabs his face, looking over him.

“Oh thank god you’re okay, you scared the shit out of me-”

“What happened?” Dave croaks, his voice hoarse as John wipes his forehead with the cloth and brushes his hair back. 

“I came over to see if you were okay, and you were lying on the kitchen floor in a puddle of spew, just- shaking.”

_ ‘SEE?’ _

Dave sighs, and John presses a bottle of water to his lips that he gratefully downs in a few moments, feeling better already as his body greedily soaks up the hydration. He feels well enough to try and sit up, and John helps him, rubbing his back when he gags and threatens to spew again. His head spins, but only once, and he sighs, leaning his head onto the other boys shoulder with a soft sigh. John holds him, patting his back and stroking his hair, and Dave relaxes gratefully into his warmth. Damn, who knew John was so- soft?

“You should probably go to a hospital if you don’t start getting better.” 

Dave gives a sleepy sort of grunt and shrugs, nosing closer to John, who eventually sneaks a finger under his chin and tips his head up. Dave opens his bleary eyes and catches John’s blue hues, which are full of concern.

“I’m serious, Dave.”

A sigh. “Okay, okay. If i’m still sick tomorrow, then i’ll go.”

John smiles, and his eyes crinkle at the corners in a way that makes Dave’s heart flutter. He leans down, and plants a soft kiss on Dave’s lips, and Dave slips his arms around John’s shoulders and pulls him down. John laughs softly, breaking the kiss only to push into a new one, laying down beside Dave to draw him close, where they kiss the breath out of each other until they both fall asleep.


	7. Here, kitty kitty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOO I'm sorry this took so long :(. I'm working on another fic currently, so i apologise for the delay! I hope you enjoy nontheless.  
> \- Bee.

_ “Fuck,  _ Jake-”

“D-Dirk, I’m  _ g- ghh _ -”

“Don’t stop, I swear to god-”

Heavy breathing and muffled groans rumble through the flimsy door at the end of the laboratory hall, out of the way and inconspicuous, for the most part. These secret little rendezvous in the broom closet weren’t the most tasteful, but they did wonders for the tension in Dirk Strider’s shoulders. Pressed with his face to the musty wall, two meaty hands on his bony hips, bodies move together in tandem, rocking hips rolling back to meet the body behind him. Dirk was pitifully thin compared to the filled-out physique of his secret lover, but lucky for him, Jake didn’t seem to care, just as long as he  _ was _ actually looking after himself.

Hastily undressed, Dirk’s boxers yanked down to his knees, the smaller of the pair letting his eyes drop shut, a hand from the wall moving around to grab the clothed hip behind him. English didn’t have to expose himself as much as Dirk to get what they wanted, rather only undoing his button and fly to uncover his heady cock, which had been excited since this morning, when Dirk came in and made his intentions known with a whisper into his ear at morning briefing, and then sly teasing for hours after. It hadn’t been until lunch that they both had a spare moment, and Jake was wound up enough to actually drag Dirk aside himself. 

“So fu-ucking close, Jake, Jake, fu- _ ffhhh-” _

Muffled in the little room, Dirk’s moans carry to Jake’s ears and Jake’s ears alone as he pistons his hips in time with his huffs for breath, his face as red as the tag on his lab coat. Calloused fingers slip across pale skin and reach around Dirk’s hips to find his leaking cock, taking it in hand to draw another broken moan from Dirk’s throat that almost has Jake coming undone then and there.

Dirk arches his back and yells into his elbow, muffling his cries as he fucks into Jake’s hand and back into his cock, knees buckling as he spurts hot ropes over the wall and Jake’s hand. 

Grunting, rutting his hips forward and then grinding against Dirk’s milk-white ass, Jake digs his nails into Dirk’s hips and leans to press his lips to the others shoulder, Growling his moans as he climaxes, shaking and shivering and holding Dirk tight against him.

They stay like that for a while, huffing and catching breath, at least until Jake is soft. Grabbing the base of his cock and the attached condom, because Dirk is a stickler about sticky asscheeks in his slacks, Jake pulls himself away with a contented sigh, cleaning himself off and dropping the used rubber into the nearby trashcan. Thank you, janitors closet.

Dirk doesn’t say anything as he pulls his trousers up, but he’s like that, after sex. Quiet and withdrawn unless someone actually makes an effort to do the aftercare side of things. Which Jake does, as soon as he’s gotten his pants done back up. He sweeps Dirk into his arms and kisses him dramatically, which makes Dirk’s lips twitch up. As much as he plays the emotionless and asshole-ish guy, he  _ does  _ love Jake. Jake makes him feel… things, he doesn’t usually feel, and even though they haven’t really labelled their relationship officially, they’re fine with calling each other ‘boyfriend’ and ‘partner’, which sort of does put a label on it, but whatever. 

“That was really good.” Jake murmurs against Dirk’s mouth, his glasses slightly fogged up with the muggy heat in the room. Dirk reaches to adjust Jake’s collar, smoothing his hands over his toned chest, an excuse to cop a feel more than anything else. 

“You always say that,” The blond mumbles in response, despite the slight red on his face as he then reaches for his shades to slide them onto his face from where they are tucked into the pocket of his overalls. Jake likes seeing Dirk’s eyes, and even though the shades make him feel yet more vulnerable, with Jake, Dirk doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Well, yeah, but would you rather I say something along the lines of our sex being rivetingly intense?”

“No. No. That makes it weird.”

“I thought so.”

Jake’s smile is contagious. Rather than break into a dumb grin, though, Dirk instead leans up to place another kiss on the others soft lips, lingering until he draws away with a long sigh.

“I’m supposed to be checking on the symbiotes.” He mutters disinterestedly, keeping nose to nose with Jake as long as he can before the other kisses his cheek, and Dirk feels the scruff of his jaw against his face.

“Yes, I do believe I am supposed to be doing something to the same tune.” He sighs, breath hot on Dirk’s neck.

“It doesn’t feel right. To be doing this. With Aliens? It just- rubs me wrong. Rubs me like a cactus.”

Jake winces at the mental picture and draws away, and then kisses Dirk’s forehead, which makes him blush like a goddamn schoolgirl. What is it with this guy and kisses? Stupid.

A sigh. “I know. It doesn’t make me feel all that chipper either.” 

Nonetheless, Dirk straightens out his overalls and taps his shades as if to wake them up, and then turns for the door. “Wait for me to-”

“-be gone. I know.” Jake finishes for him, smiling as he leans against the wall.

Dirk suddenly points to something on the wall just beneath his arm.  “Should clean that up too.”

Glancing down at the dripping white mess, Jake turns beet red and gives a short laugh, scratching the back of his neck as he turns back to Dirk.  “Wow, yeah, uh-”

But Dirk was already gone.

-

Navigating these halls isn’t hard, when you’ve been doing it for years already. ASSES was a huge maze of winding staircases and glass railings, white walls and tiled floors and automatic doors that opened into circular rooms of desks and testing space.  Dirk traverses the bridges from one side of the station to the other and takes the elevator down. Alienware is a classified and confidential study sector, house out of sight and out of mind underneath the facility. Until now, the only ‘alien’ shit they had down there were rocks and plant-life, no actual ‘aliens’.

The ‘plan’, as his boss said, was to try and utilise the Symbiotes that they had acquired to better the human race. Being unable to survive without a host, if Alternius could figure out how to splice the symbiote DNA to cooperate with any host rather than only one that perfectly suits them, they could have a US army of genetically modified supersoldiers. 

These symbiotes, though. They were young, apparently. One of the surviving PDA’s from the ship that went down had documented the existence of adults. The acquiring of the unprotected youngsters wasn’t hard- Snatched from their beds in their sleep, though the document put it a lot…. nicer , even though kidnapping was what it all ultimately came down to.

Shoes clicking on the concrete, Dirk leaves the dinging elevator behind him. The pair of steel doors block his path, but with a swipe of his keycard and his thumb, Hal’s voice rings out; 

_ ‘Clear for entry into Sector Y, Dirk Strider. Good Afternoon, Dirk.’ _

The doors slide open for him, and Dirk is immediately greeted by swathes of scientists hopping to and fro with clipboards and jars and canisters of plants that move, rock that floats even inside sealed containers, animated dirt. Dirk’s glasses display a red path from his current position around a corner.

_ ‘Your boss wants to see you.’ _

Dirk ignores Hal’s chiming in his ear, and instead follows a green pathway that leads him to ‘High Class Containment.’ Another swipe of his keycard, read of his thumb, but a retinal scan as well, this time. The doors slide open for him, and Dirk steps into the semi-circular room of glass cells. 

_ ‘He won’t be happy about you making him wait, Dirk.’ _

“I don’t care. My work takes priority, and I want to have a word with the baby-shit yellow one.”

If Hal could sigh, he would, but instead he just speaks ‘ _ sigh’ _ into his ear, and lets the left-most cell brighten with a dim light. Each cell is dark, but the canisters are gone, so Dirk assumes that each glass cage is now hosting a symbiote and their host.

The host for ‘The Helmsman’ is different now. Surely, this guy is no older than eighteen, and it makes Dirk’s gut twist.

“This is a kid. There’s no way he’s a death row-’   


‘ _ Don’t ask questions.’ _ Hal chides. His voice is quieter than usual in Dirk’s ear, and he doesn’t need tone to know that Hal isn’t happy with the conditions here either.

The kid looks up. His face is red and splotchy with tears, and he’s sitting in the back corner of the cell in a hospital gown. 

Dirk steels his jaw and crouches. The kids' eyes meet Dirk’s and then flick immediately away.

“My name's Dirk.” He introduces, hoping he’s more comforting than intimidating.

The boy doesn’t move. He stays coiled up in one corner of the room, hugging his knees.

“Do… Do you have a name?” Dirk asks, shifting to sit with his legs crossed on the floor. The boy looks at him, and then raises his head from his arms.

“Amos.”

Dirk offers a smile that feels foreign on his face. He doesn’t know why he’s so concerned about this kid, but there’s something about his sandy blonde hair and big eyes and small frame that brings back…. Memories.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Nobody else bothered to ask me my name. Are you here to do something to me?”

The look on Amos’ face almost breaks the icy wall of nonchalance around Dirk’s heart, and he shakes his head.  “I had no idea you were here until now. I’m sorry this happened to you.”

“Can you get me out? I… I want to go home.”

Fuck. Fuck! Did Caliborn just order someone to kidnap a random kid from their home? What the fuck?

“Where do you live?” Dirk pries, trying to hide the fearful rage that wells in his throat. He didn’t know the full extent of how fucked up this facility was, but… jesus.

“I live on the street. I don’t have any family. They offered me this job for some money, but they injected me with something and now i’m terrified I’m going to die. It talks to me, talks- from me, and i-”

Dirk takes a breath. Okay. So, not totally illegal, but the poor kid clearly had no idea what he was getting into. He regards Dirk with a sort of sad stare, and Dirk runs a hand through his hair and takes a breath.

“Can I talk to him?” He asks, resting his elbows on his knees. 

All bony arms and thin frame, Amos drags himself closer to the glass panel and mimics Dirk’s crossed-legged position. His eyes are blue, Dirk sees, but aren’t bright or excited like a young teens should be. They’re dim, aged, sad. His hair is matted, his pale skin freckled with small brown spots, and his resemblance to Dave makes Dirk’s gut writhe. 

“Talk to who? The… The thing.. Inside?” Amos asks, a fragile hand coming up from his lap to grab the front of his hospital gown as if trying to reach into his chest. The kid nods, but his face goes pale. “I… You can, but I… I always pass out..”

“What? When the helmsman comes out?”

Amos nods, and then hugs himself. “I’m not strong enough.”

There’s a moment of silence- hear a pin drop, painful silence. But Amos eventually lies down and closes his eyes, and before Dirk can ask what’s going on, a pool of black-yellow goop forms at his chest and then bundles and floats upwards like a bubble of water in zero gravity. The same thing from the other day forms, double horns, four slitted gold eyes, a mouth of razor sharp, gold teeth. It's only the creature from the waist up, though, and Dirk tries not to look as uncomfortable as he feels.

_ ‘What do you want?’  _ It asks, its voice raspy and slightly muffled by the glass. ‘ _ Every moment I am corporeal, that boy dies a little.’ _

Dirk looks from the symbiote to the boy and swallows hard. “What do you mean, dying? I thought you were supposed to make your hosts stronger.”

_ ‘He and I are not compatible.’ _

“Oh.”

_ ‘What do you want.” _

“I wanted to know if it was true what the reports said. About you and your friends only being, like- young.” Dirk asks, even though he’s not sure that he actually wants the answer anymore. The symbiote pulls its fangs into a snarl, and Dirk finds himself on his feet in seconds.

_ ‘Signless is barely six sweeps old. The rest of us? Varying from six to eight. Her Heiress is the eldest.’ _

“Sweeps?”

_ ‘Roughly thirteen to fifteen in human years. We weren’t so kidnapped, though. If Her Imperial Condescension wanted to stop you, she could have easily shot your piss poor excuse for a ship out of the sky.’ _

Dirk ponders that in his head. He furrows his brow and shakes his head. “What, so she let us take you?”

The helmsman's head bobs. A yes, Dirk assumes. 

‘ _ It is likely that one of us is a mole, contacting her highness and telling her where we are.’ _

Blood suddenly runs ice cold in Dirk’s veins, and he blinks once, twice. The symbiote laughs a grating sound at him. 

‘ _ What, you think you could bring twelve alien kids back to your home world and NOT have mom come looking? Well. Not mom. But she does need a new world to terraform.’ _

Dirk gapes, not hearing Hal buzzing in his ear past the blood rushing in his ears.

Terraform. Alien mom. Her highness.

Fffffff-

“STRIDER.”

Caliborn’s voice from the doorway behind him makes Dirk jump half a foot into the air and piss himself. 

Smoothing himself down like a frightened cat, Dirk turns slowly to his boss and clears his throat.

“Look, I know-”

“No.” Caliborn grates out, his brows brought low over his eyes in a deep scowl. Dirk can practically see the steam coming out of his ears.

“My office, now, Strider.”

Shit.

_ ‘I warned you, man.’ _

“Fuck off, Hal.”

-

It's raining when Rose drags her feet home from the college dormitories. The sky is overcast with clouds, and even with her big black umbrella, her pleated skirt and raincoat aren’t keeping dry. There are few other people on the street, a mother with her young son, ushering him to their car, a beggar on the street, who Rose empties her wallet into the hands of.

Well. Her mother's wallet. It's not like they’re poor. It only occurs to her once she’s passed the man that he’ll probably use it for booze, but she doesn’t have the energy to kick herself today. She’s looking forward only to a hot bath and a nap.

Maybe her mother, if she isn’t konked out. 

Her shoes click and slap on the wet pavement, lace-up boots that are kept in perfect condition like most of her possessions. Her skirts, all neatly pressed, her button-up shirts freshly washed- The image of prim and proper, when she frequently feels otherwise.

Music is playing when she pushes the front door open.

_ ‘You can’t spell pain, or kiss, or run away,’ _

A heavy sigh. If there’s music playing at four in the afternoon, there’s probably a drunk mother on the kitchen floor for her to pick up. 

Rose kicks her shoes off at the door and then sets them neatly on the rack. She steps up the tile step into the main lounge, and immediately yelps as someone grabs her around the waist and drags her into a fast-paced jig.

_ ‘Or little mistake without me,’ _

It takes Rose a moment to register that it's her mom, wearing her dramatically long scarf and cat-printed shirt, who has taken her hands and dragged her into the kitchen, dancing so furiously that Rose can barely see her face past her mess of hair.

‘ _ Or A, E, I, O, U.’ _

Roses first thought is that she’s totally out of it, but there are no bottles- well, anywhere. The kitchen is  _ clean, _ and her mother doesn’t smell like booze. She smells like- Like flowers, and grass, and warmth. 

It brings a confused smile to Rose's face to see her bouncing around so extravagantly, hollering the lyrics and holding her daughter’s hand like it's the one thing keeping her tethered to this plane of existence.

She can’t help but laugh a little as her mother sweeps her up and spins her around the kitchen.

“What’s gotten into you?” Rose calls over the thrum of the music and the happiness of her mother, which is obviously the loudest thing in the room.

“Can’t I just be happy to have you home? You’ve been gone aaaaallllll weeeeek-” Roxy croons, reaching to turn down the blaring music as she brushes the majority of her hair out of her face. Her eyes are sparkling, and there's such a wide grin on her face that Rose can’t help but return it. 

“Yeah, but you’re never  _ this _ excited to see me.”

“Awwwhhhh, Roooossseeee-” Her mother sighs, draping her arms around Roses shoulder and giving her a soft peck atop her head. “I’m especially excited this time, because I’ve got soooo much to tell you-'

Rose raises a skeptical brow as Roxy steps away and flings open a bunch of cupboards. Her face falls when she realises exactly which cupboards those ones are, but when Roxy reaches inside, she doesn’t pull out a bottle of vodka or whiskey- But a plant.

“I stopped drinking. I’m going to therapy.”

Her heart stops and does a backflip, and then crawls up into her throat and into her stomach.

Sure, the booze cupboards being full or- well, flora, now, is a change, but Rose has heard this a billion times. 

“Mom..” She sighs, the cheer gone out of her suddenly. Roxy whines and sets the plant down, and rushes to take Rose's hands in hers, crouching down to her height with an earnest look.

“It's for real this time, Rosie. I promise. I haven’t had any drinks since Wednesday, and it's- what, Saturday? I got rid of all the alcohol in the house, and I took up gardening- Hence the flowers-” 

Rose watches her mother bumble around promises and explanations, and she desperately wants to believe her. She does, sort of, three days booze-less is a new record-, but they’ve gone down this road a million times before.

“-He’s a really good doctor, and I’ve been keeping up with appointments- I had one today, even.

“You left the house, sober?” Rose asks in teasing disbelief, letting go of her skepticism for now, at least, as her mother grins and nods, standing up. 

“There’s something else, too- come, comecomecomecome-” 

She makes a noise in her throat as her mom starts to drag her down the hall and into the laundry, past all of the bad wizard posters and- wow, clean walls? Clean floors?

The house is never clean.

Roxy pushes the door open, and inside is a small cardboard box surrounded by a small wire fence. The box has ‘Free to Good Home’ written on it in sharpie, and inside, atop all of the blankets, is a small-bodied feline, with piercing green eyes and sleep grey fur.

Rose feels all the breath go out of her at once. Ever since Jaspers passed away, she and her mother had been really broken up about getting another pet. Roxy was in no way going to be able to care for another little thing with her drinking problem, and Rose was away at college. 

But if her mom is really serious about not drinking anymore-

“I haven’t given him a name yet,” Roxy whispers, snapping Rose out of her thoughts as she steps over the little wire fence and gestures for Rose to do the same, grinning. “I thought you might like to.”

Rose crouches to pet her finger across the little creature’s head, and her heart skips a beat as the kitten gives a soft mewl. It’s thin as all hell, but there are vet’s bills on the washing machine and medicine in the kits feed bowl, so Rose assumes that Roxy knows. Poor thing. 

It gets up from its little bed and stretches, stepping out of the tipped-over box. Rose picks him up in her hands and croons, his fur as soft as anything. He gives another yowl and paps Rose's nose with his little paw, and she feels tears squeeze out of the corners of her eyes. Her mom crouches down beside her and beams.

“Do you like him?”

Rose nods enthusiastically and can’t help her grin, watching the small creature as she gathers him into her arms on his back and wriggles her fingers at him, letting him bat at her digits in a little game.

“I love him.” She whispers, not noticing how the little cat’s eyes gloss over with jade, the color filling in over the top of the kittens pupils. The kitten stops batting at Rose's fingers, and goes still for a moment, just staring up at the blonde girl with a captivating stare.

She’s sure she hears someone say her name, but Roxy is talking again and Rose's attention flicks back to her mother.

“...Was thinking Samwise. Maybe we can order pizza and watch a movie tonight.”

Rose glances across at her and nods, tears still glittering on her cheeks.

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.”


End file.
